


Cambiare Podentes: Invocare

by JordanGrant



Series: Cambiare Podentes [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dominance, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Sexual Slavery, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-15
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:41:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 50
Words: 303,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JordanGrant/pseuds/JordanGrant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new prophecy comes to light, one that promises death for Harry Potter and enslavement for the wizarding world, unless Harry himself consents to being sexually  enslaved--irrevocably and for life--to Severus Snape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: This story is slightly AU in a number of respects. Harry was born a year earlier, and also, students are now 12 years old when they start Hogwarts, which makes Harry 18 when the story first opens. Ron and Hermione are also 18. (In this story, Hermione is not almost a whole year older than Harry). The age of adulthood in Wizarding Britain remains 17, as in canon.
> 
> This story is based on books 1-5 and an unspecified year 6. It tells the end of Harry's 7th year and beyond. It is in no way HBP compliant although some details from HBP are included. When this story opens, Snape is still teaching Potions at Hogwarts and Dumbledore is alive.
> 
> Readers should be aware that "Cambiare Podentes: Invocare" is rated NC-17 and contains material of a graphic sexual nature, including explicit slash (homoerotic content). It also contains dubious consent, dominance/submission themes, non-consensual sex, violence, hurt/comfort, and use of druglike substances.
> 
> Many thanks to regan_v for the support and beta.

**Cambiare Podentes: Invocare**

by Jordan Grant

** Monday, May 4, 1998 7:00 p.m. **

_Six more weeks,_ Harry thought, glancing around at the Gryffindor common room. _Six more weeks until summer. Is that why everyone is acting so strange? Funny, I've never seen the prospect of summer vacation have quite this effect, before. Maybe it just seems different because this year is my last at Hogwarts?_

That wasn't it, though, and Harry knew it. In the first place, why would summer make everyone depressed? Of course, it always depressed Harry, but he was different. The others had nice homes and families to go to when school let out. Families they had missed during the term.

Besides, the sombre mood wasn't some generalized discontent; it had a focus. Worse, that focus seemed to be _him_. He'd caught the mood first at dinner. Seventh years looking at him, and then away, quick little glances full of worry, though masked the minute he seemed to notice them. It wasn't just the Gryffindors, either. The Ravenclaws had been doing it, too.

And now, it was going on in the common room. Those same distressed peeks when they thought he wasn't looking, and not just that, but whispered conversations in every corner. Conversations about him, or so it seemed to Harry.

No, it was more than a mere _seemed._ He'd had enough experience of people gossiping about him to have a fairly good sense for it.

Harry grabbed a sleeve as Ron passed by, and yanked him down to sit next to him on the sofa he'd been occupying alone. That was another thing. For all this apparent _concern_ people were showing him, not a single person had bothered to actually come talk to him about whatever was on everybody's mind. Harry was sick of it.

"What is going on?" he murmured against Ron's ear. "Why do people keep looking at me like they think I'm about to die?"

Ron made a noise of distress, halfway between a strangled groan and an attempt to force a laugh.

"What?" Harry demanded. "Talk."

One word came croaking out his friend's mouth. "Trelawney."

Abruptly releasing Ron's arm, Harry leaned back against the back of the couch. "Is that all? So she predicted my death again. Big deal. She's only been doing it weekly since third year." Then his eyes narrowed. "Anybody who's taken Divination has heard it all before. Dozens of times. Why spread it around now?"

Ron gulped back a rush of air, his red hair flying wildly as he shook his head. "I heard it didn't happen in class. Um... Neville went up to her classroom alone, and she acted really weird, not like her usual weirdness either, and..."

Harry laughed. "It's Trelawney! She's mental no matter how you slice it. Get a _grip,_ Ron! I'm not going to die!"

"But that's just it," Ron blurted out. "She didn't predict you'd be squashed by the whomping willow or poisoned by Slytherins or any of her usual lines. It was more this spooky, really creepy stuff all about You-Know-Who killing you on your nineteenth birthday. Except she called him the 'Dark Lord,' just like Snape always does."

"What else?" Harry pressed, because by then, Ron was doing a good job of looking anywhere but at Harry, and that could only mean one thing. There was something more to the story.

His friend cleared his throat. "Something about some old rite called _Cambiare_ being the only solution, and how apart from that, he'll kill you for sure and reign over the rest of us for ten thousand years. The rest of us being purebloods, by the way. Muggleborns and half-bloods are going to get the axe, one and all."

Harry blew out a long breath. "Okay, well for the sake of argument, assume she knows what she's talking about, unlikely as that is. I'll just do this _Cambiare_."

"Yeah, well that's part of the problem," Ron admitted. "Word of this actually started going around this morning, and a bunch of us skived off classes to hunt up the spell in the library. We couldn't find a single reference, not even after we got the Ravenclaws to help."

"Restricted Section," Harry advised.

"Hermione's there, now. I... er, I lent her your invisibility cloak. And... well, you know. She's snuck in there an awful lot, so we figured she'd stand a better chance than you or me of finding anything, if it's in there."

"And the reason nobody thought to tell _me_ any of this?"

Ron looked away again. "Well, we just thought it might be better to know what we were talking about, first. You know, find out what this _Cambiare_ even is."

Harry crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back. "That makes sense."

"You aren't mad?"

"No." He felt his lips curving into a smile. "It's really sort of nice, everybody looking out for me. And besides, we're still talking Trelawney."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, but he didn't sound so sure. "It's just that Neville said that she was really, really dodgy about the whole thing. Didn't speak in that whiney little voice she uses all the time, but some deep, dark drone that she kept repeating. And afterwards, when he asked her to explain what she'd been going on about, she didn't have a clue what he was talking about. Like... like she'd been possessed, or something, and didn't remember her own words."

_Uh-oh,_ Harry thought. _That sounds bad. Really bad. Reminds me of third year, when I heard the crazy old bat actually give a real prophecy, not to mention what I saw in Dumbledore's pensieve, fifth year..._

"Let's see what Hermione comes up with from the Restricted Section," he decided, keeping his voice level so as not to alarm Ron any further. Ron, or anyone else, he realised. By then, most everyone in the common room was quite obviously trying not to be noticed as they listened in. "And I think I'd better talk to Neville for myself. Is he in our dormitory?" 

Harry ignored the stares as he headed there, Ron in tow.

~

~

** Monday, May 4, 1998 7:16 p.m. **

Neville sighed, and shoved a piece of parchment across his bed, his hand shaking. He glared briefly at Ron. "I worked on it all day, once I was given a chance to think about what I'd heard. I suspect I don't quite have it perfect, but it's nearly so."

"Wow," Harry had to say when he glanced down at the neatly inked words. "She said all this?"

"Over and over."

Harry nodded, and read the prophecy out loud:

> > _When the marked one marks his nineteenth year,_  
>  the Dark Lord's triumph shall appear.  
>  When one who should have died now dies,  
>  The Dark Lord's glory shall arise.   
>  Ten thousand years he'll rule the land,   
>  his minions given open hand,  
>  all others given unto death  
>  for tainted blood the only test.  
>  And yet remains a ray of hope,  
>  Salvation in a lightning bolt.   
>  As he still lives, all is not lost,  
>  vanquish dark by powers crossed,   
>  ancient rites of ancient days,   
>  and spells that none alive can say.   
>  Cambiare is the key,  
>  else unto death yield sky and sea.  
>  Invoke the rite not just in name,   
>  for only truth will evil tame.  
>  His life oft saved though hate did glow,  
>  by one the Dark Lord used to know,  
>  and now to him all will must go,   
>  lest twice-filled powers never flow. 

"Well, that certainly clears it all up," Harry quipped when he finished reading. Shifting on the bed, he cast Ron a glance, then passed him the paper. "So Trelawney didn't explain this, not at all?"

"Harry, she doesn't even remember saying it, even though she repeated the whole thing three times in a row. Then she sort of shook her head, all jittery, like she was coming out of a trance, and she looked at me and said, _Did you come for that tea I promised, dear?_ But nobody had even mentioned tea! I went back for a book I'd left behind!"

"So what made you think this was worth mentioning to anyone?" Harry questioned. "Last time I checked, you were only taking Divination to avoid Seventh-Year Potions. Not that I blame you; I sometimes wonder if I should have ditched those torture sessions in the dungeons, too. But seriously, Neville. You think Trelawney's an old fraud, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" Neville hotly disputed. "That's just it, Harry. I can't explain, you had to be there, but it wasn't Trelawney saying those words. Something else was talking through her mouth, and you can call me nutters all you want, but that's the truth!"

"Nobody's calling you nutters, Neville," Harry sighed. "I just had to know, that's all, if you were starting to fall for all her claptrap, or if this prophecy concerned you _in spite of_ it. 'Cause, see..." he cleared his throat. "I heard her channel something else once, too. A real prophecy. And it came true."

"Oh Merlin, Harry," Neville moaned. "Your birthday's the same as mine, isn't it? July 31st? It'll be your _nineteenth._ If we don't find this _Cambiare_ spell before then, you're doomed, and all of us with you!"

"No, no, let's not jump to any conclusions," Harry cautioned. "When she uttered that real prophecy in front of me, I misinterpreted it completely. In fact, it was word for word true but the _way_ it was worded, I took it kind of backwards. So there's no telling what any of this means, not yet."

Ron had been poring over the parchment the whole time Harry and Neville had been talking, but Harry's last comment had him looking up. "I hope you're right," he commented, his whole face twisting with concern. "I seriously hope you're right."

"Why?"

Ron's shaking finger indicated the last few lines of hand-written text. "Who's _one the Dark Lord used to know,_ Harry?"

Harry shrugged. "You think I have Voldemort's social calendar handy? I have no idea."

"Yeah, well you ought to know this much. Who's saved your life, _oft,_ like it says here, even though he's always hated your guts and always will? Who, just by coincidence is also _one the Dark Lord used to know!_ "

"You can read anything you like into poetry!" Harry scoffed. 

Neville was a bit slower to catch on, but it didn't take long. "He means Snape!"

"Yeah, I mean Snape!" Ron snapped. "Now listen: _Cambiare_ _is the key, else unto death yield sky and sea. Invoke the rite not just in name, for only truth will evil tame. His life oft saved though hate did glow, by one the Dark Lord used to know, and now to him all will must go, lest twice-filled powers never flow._ " He paused, looked Harry in the eyes, and said, "Whatever this _Cambiare_ turns out to be, you have to invoke it with Snape to make it work."

"Let's hope it's an ancient form of _Avada Kedavra,_ then," Harry muttered tightly. "Not that I necessarily believe your reading, or the damned prophecy itself, for that matter. I suppose, though, we'd better track down this _Cambiare_ and find out just what I might be stepping into, here. What's keeping Hermione?"

"You know what it's like searching the Restricted Section," Ron sympathised. "Come on, let's play a round of chess, get your mind off things."

"I have a Potions essay to finish," Harry growled. "Explain the significant interactions between various classes of dragon's blood and oil-based reagents, taking into account the implications of cauldron metallurgy."

"Glad I dropped Potions after the O.W.L.s," Neville admitted. 

"Me too," Ron chimed in.

"Yeah, yeah, I've just got Hermione for moral support, and she's sneaking around the library tonight. So let me get to it, then. And Ron? Could you do me a favour? Tell everybody in the common room just to lay off it for a while. Tell them we don't even know what the stupid prophecy means, and until we do, there's no sense looking at me like I'll never see another August. All right?"

"Yeah, all right," Ron agreed, nodding as he left the dormitory, Neville in tow.

Harry flopped onto his own bed, fetched his essay in progress, and chewed the end of his quill as he tried to get his mind onto dragon's blood.


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

** Tuesday, May 5, 1998 7:38 a.m. **

Hermione shook her head sadly when Harry sat across from her in the Great Hall the next morning for breakfast. "Not one reference," she said. "I can look again tonight, but honestly, I don't think it's there."

Harry nodded, though he found his friend's report more than a little distressing. Trouble was, it tended to confirm the bloody prophecy, all that blather about nobody alive even knowing the spell, it was so ancient. Yeah, so ancient it hadn't even made it into Hogwarts' impressive library. For all he knew, the _Cambiare_ spell predated books itself.

Nah, he decided. That couldn't be the case. The name of the damned thing was in Latin, wasn't it? So just how old could it be?

"What's _Cambiare_ even mean?" he quietly asked Hermione as he served himself a helping of stewed leeks. Ha, leeks for breakfast? The house-elves had really strange ideas about meals, but somehow, they always hit on things he liked, so he wasn't complaining. 

"Honestly, Harry!" she exclaimed, almost on cue. "I know you've noticed that Latin's part and parcel of every subject, here! You've got a fine mind; you just need to go beyond the bare minimum asked on each assignment--"

"The spell?" Harry hissed, baring his teeth.

A light blush suffused her cheekbones. "Oh, sorry. Right. Now's not the time. _Cambiare_ _,_ then. To change. Sometimes, exchange. Specifically, to give and take reciprocally."

"A change spell?" Harry mused, forgetting his momentary irritation. "Changing what?"

"Or exchanging," Hermione reminded him.

Harry suddenly gagged, and had to swig a few swallows of pumpkin juice to bring it under control. "Oh, no. That's just bloody disgusting, it is. It can't mean _that._ "

"What?" Ron questioned. He'd been following the conversation since he'd joined them two minutes earlier.

Harry clenched his hands beneath the table, and gritted out in a harsh whisper, "You don't think... Ugh. What if it means I have to, you know, change bodies with... uh, _him_."

"Ewwwwwww." Ron pushed his plate away with both hands. "Put me off my food, why don't you?"

"Better that than make you vomit it all back up. Imagine if I'd told you at the end of the meal."

"Him who?" Hermione broke in.

"Oh, right," Harry muttered. "You weren't there last night. Neville wrote it all out, what he could remember. I bet it's pretty close, too. You'll see what I mean." He fished the parchment out of his inner robe pocket, unfolded it, and tapped it with his wand to release the concealment spell he'd applied. "Not a word," he cautioned Ron. "Not one word. Let's see if Hermione here reaches anything like the same conclusion you did, all right?"

Ron nodded, and proving he wasn't all that nauseated after all, sprinkled a liberal helping of sugar over his porridge and began shovelling it in his mouth.

Hermione's lips moved as she read the parchment silently, something Harry knew meant she was focusing all her concentration on the text. When she looked up at Harry, her lips were twisted in a little frown. "Oh, dear. Ron's right. This isn't good at _all._ "

"What do you mean?" Harry bluffed, darting a warning glance to Ron to keep quiet.

"What do you think?" Hermione returned. "Honestly, if _he_ figured it out, you'd have to think I would."

"Thanks!" Ron put in.

"Oh, I didn't mean it that way," Hermione scolded, though Harry had a hard time seeing just how she had meant it, in that case. "Anyway, the last few lines obviously refer to _him._ " She jerked her gaze toward the teacher's dais.

"Who, the headmaster?" Harry questioned, playing dumb.

"Don't."

"What? He saved my life, too, you know, and it's certainly true that Voldemort used to know him. Maybe it does mean him, though how I'm going to pretend to be the headmaster is beyond me, it really is."

"He didn't save your life _oft,_ and do it despite _hate that glows,_ " Hermione whispered, leaning close even though there was nobody much at their end of the table. "We all know who hates you, Harry."

Harry couldn't help it. He let his gaze nervously stray to the teacher's table, and sure enough, there sat Severus Snape, glaring at him as usual, his black eyes practically on fire with hatred. _Hate that glows._

"Shite," Harry softly swore. "I have to exchange places with _that?_ I have to wear that greasy hair?"

Apparently accustomed to the image by then, Ron said around a mouthful of chicken dumpling, "Hey, it's not so bad. You can give Gryffindor a bunch of points, and really slam it to the Slytherins. Besides..." A toothy grin met Harry's gaze. "If you're him, then he's you, so who's You-Know-Who going to kill come July 31st?"

"If he dies in my body," Harry hissed, "I might never get back into it! I'll be stuck being _him_. And let's not forget, _he_ has an inconvenient mark that burns like Hell itself whenever Voldemort gets ticked!"

"You have one of those too," Ron pointed out, like Harry had forgotten or something.

"Let's keep in mind," Hermione interrupted, "that we really don't know what _Cambiare_ does. This is all just speculation, and Harry and I need to cut it short or we'll be late for Potions." She handed the parchment back, unfolded, so that Harry could spell it again, and watched as he tucked it away once more.


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

** Thursday, May 7, 1998 ---- 11:06 p.m. **

Later that week, Hermione conceded defeat. There was nothing in the Restricted Section that could help them better understand the reference to _Cambiare_ _._ She'd even dredged out some old texts written completely in Latin, and charmed them to translate themselves into awkward half-backwards renderings of modern English, but it was no use. For all the spell's name might be in Latin, it seemed the wizards of ancient Rome had never even heard of it.

Harry had spent his week working on the problem, too, approaching it from a different angle. Assuming that the prophecy was true --a big assumption, as far as Harry was concerned,-- he'd gotten out sheaf of parchments, magically bound them into a journal of sorts, and set himself to analysing what Trelawney had spouted. He wrote one line of poetry at the top of each page, and underlined it, until he had written the entire thing out. Then, going back to the beginning, he began recording thoughts and impressions as they occurred to him. Ideas of what the line might mean, questions about the imagery, anything he could think of.

It was when he got to _spells that none alive can say_ that something clicked. Underneath the line, he had written _If no one alive can still say the spell, how can it be incanted? How can it be used? But there has to be a solution because the next line says that this Cambiare is the key. No one alive, okay. That only leaves someone who is dead. Ghosts... maybe one of the ghosts in the castle would know about the spell._

Well, they didn't. They'd never even heard of the stupid spell. Harry had asked the Bloody Baron, and Nearly Headless Nick, and Moaning Myrtle, and every other ghost he'd ever seen roaming the halls. Hell, he'd even asked Peeves, though he wasn't sure if a poltergeist, strictly speaking, qualified as a ghost. And he'd written it all down, then gone on to the next line, and the next.

He'd been through the entire prophecy this way, more than once, re-reading his notes and adding to them as old notions engendered new ones, and when he got to his list of ghosts he'd asked, he thought with some amount of depression, _Yeah, well the spell is supposed to be from ancient days, so I guess we just don't have any ghost who's old enough. It must not have been in use when they were alive, either. Too bad, I guess, that we don't have some ghosts who know their history._

And that was when it dawned on him: they _did_.

 _Binns,_ Harry hurriedly scrawled onto the parchment. _History of Magic. If anyone would know about a spell so old it's not even in the library, he would. And he's even a ghost, so he can say the incantation if I need it, whatever it does!_

Harry dashed from the dormitory and jumped down the stairs, taking them six at a time in his haste to get down to the common room where Hermione was trying to get caught up in Arithmancy.

"Binns!" he shouted, "Binns!"

And then, because he didn't think he could really explain, he was so out of breath, he just shoved his parchment journal at her and jabbed his finger at his notes.

Hermione's mouth became a perfect little circle as she read them through and gasped. "Harry, you're brilliant!" she declared, leaping to her feet and planting a sisterly kiss on his cheek.

Harry blushed a fierce pink. "Nah, I'm not."

Taking a step back, Hermione shook a finger in a stern gesture, one Harry had seen before. "You need to stop listening to Professor Snape, Harry. You _are_ smart. You're plenty smart! He only says you're not because he can tell it gets to you."

Hermione was right about that much, Harry thought, but just because the insults _got_ to him didn't mean they weren't accurate. Of course he didn't think he was a complete dolt, or a blithering idiot, or a _mass of tissue too dim to know it needs a brain_ , or any of the other things Snape always called him. He just didn't think he was brilliant, either. Not like Hermione liked to say. She was just trying to bolster his self-image; she did the same thing all the time with Neville.

"Binns," Harry prompted. "Let's go see him. Now."

Hermione shook her head. "It's after curfew, and really, Harry, that old cloak of yours isn't big enough to hide the both of us now that we're nearly grown up."

"And how would you know that?" Harry archly challenged.

Hermione blinked, and elbowed Ron for support.

"I don't want the two of you under a cloak together, anyway," Ron put in, grinning. "It was... ehem, a little bit snug under there."

"Thanks, Ron, you're a really smooth talker," Hermione huffed. "Got us right out of that one, didn't you?"

Ron only grinned more widely. "Hey, it's Harry. Can't have me keeping secrets from my best mate, can you?"

"Oh, yes I _can,_ " Hermione insisted, looking more than a little put out, a reaction which made Harry think it wasn't just snogging going on under that cloak. But that was between her and Ron.

"Binns," he prompted again. "Now. It's not like he'll be sleeping, is it? I bet ghosts don't sleep. And anyway, you're Head Girl. If anyone is allowed to go out after curfew, it's you!"

"I'm only allowed out on Hogwarts' official business," Harry was primly informed.

"Oh, and this isn't official business?" Harry drawled. "Voldemort will just let the school dance on its merry way during his ten thousand year rule? The school that's gone to great lengths to protect _me_ and get _me_ ready to whip his sorry arse?"

Hermione lifted her pert little nose. "Well, all right, you have a point. I'll go, as Head Girl. Better that than ask Binns after class and risk the Slytherins overhearing. But _you_ will stay put right here, Harry."

"Because of the stupid school rules?" Harry laughed. "Now I know you're having me on."

A pout, that time. "It was worth a try. I never have liked you getting into trouble all the time."

"Trouble comes looking for me," Harry defended himself. "Like this prophecy. Did I _ask_ to be included with Snape in some old spell only a ghost of a history teacher has ever heard of? Well, did I?"

"Well, no," Hermione admitted in a low voice.

"So there you have it," Harry declared. "And the cloak is big enough for one."

"Sounds like he's got it all figured," Ron put in. "Wish I could come along. The two of you though... be good." He gave them a mock leer.

"Let's just get on with it," Hermione sighed, punching him in the arm before she shoved her Arithmancy books away and stood up. "Go on, get your dad's old cloak."

Harry gave a cocky grin, summoning it with a neat little flourish of his wand and a confident _Accio_ spell.

Hermione rolled her eyes as she headed toward the portrait hole.

~

** Thursday, May 7, 1998 ---- 11:19 p.m. **

It was only after they were heading down a long corridor on the other side of the Great Hall that Harry thought to wonder out loud, "You know where Binns' rooms are, Hermione?"

"Shhh!" she scolded in a whispering tone, her lips barely moving. "You're not there, remember? I don't want to be seen talking to myself!"

It was enough of a reprimand for Harry, who decided he'd just follow her, since she did appear to know where she was going. Shortly after they turned away from a staircase leading to the Ravenclaw dungeons, he recognised what she had in mind, though it had been almost two years since he'd tread this same route.

They were going to Binns' classroom. Well, if ghosts didn't sleep, maybe they didn't need beds, or quarters of their own? Harry wasn't sure.

Hermione quietly unlatched the door, not even using an _Alohamora._ Harry sniggered a bit at that. Nobody liked History of Magic class enough to bother Binns after hours, apparently, so there was no point in his bothering to lock the door.

"Shh!" Hermione cautioned again, looking left, then right, then left again as she crept into the darkened classroom. Harry was reminded a bit of watching Dudley learn to cross the street. Harry had had to learn on his own to look both ways and double-check, since nobody much had ever cared if he was squashed flat by a speeding lorry. Nobody but him... well, at least he had friends now. They'd care. Not that getting run over was too likely, but they'd certainly care if he let Voldemort kill him, and _not_ just because of the implications to the Wizarding world at large.

Having determined that nobody else was in the classroom --at least nobody visible, Harry amended-- Hermione edged inside and tip-toed her way to the back of the room and up the stairs leading to the teacher's private office. There, she rapped politely at the door. "Professor Binns? Could I have a moment of your time? It's Hermione Granger."

A cold chill passed through Harry, and he was a little startled to realise that the sensation had been the teacher, streaming out through the flat oak panel of the door and then straight through him. When he blinked, Binns came into focus for him, though in the dark the short ghost was difficult to detect.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Binns inquired in the same droning voice he used for lectures. No inflection even in the question. Harry was forcefully reminded why he'd scored a Troll on his O.W.L. for Binns' class. "And you, Mr Potter," the ghost went on. "Take your cloak off your head. Is that a new fashion? Though it's not in the strictest sense new. In the days of Deliania the Devastar, mountain dwarfs adopted a fashion of wearing veils in deference to the deaths their kind had suffered during the most recent round of goblin rebellions. The dwarfs and goblins had formed an alliance to fight Deliania, but owing to the Mongrel Laws first proposed in 1184, ratified in 1187, and amended in 1192, a series of misunderstanding arose, leading to the overthrow of Gildehad Grunt which resulted in--"

"Professor," Hermione urged as Harry pressed his lips together and slid off his invisibility cloak. Bit stupid, really, to think a ghost couldn't see him, though he could have done without the lecture on dwarf fashions.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Binns said again, this time stopping after her name.

Hermione looked around again, uncomfortable. "I have a history question for you, if you'd be so kind. Do you think we might discuss it in your office?" She shivered for effect.

"Ah, certainly, my dear," the ghost replied, vanishing through the wooden panels of the door as if he'd forgotten that matters weren't so simple for his all-too-human students. Hermione hesitated, so Harry shoved the door open himself, and went on in. As he and Hermione seated themselves in a pair of plush chairs upholstered in royal blue, Binns was saying, "Feel free to light a fire if you're chilled, my dear. I don't pay much mind to the temperature, myself, though I do recall that the coldest winter on record here in Scotland occurred during a siege, part of the Troll Wars of 1712. These were precipitated by the unfortunate demise of--"

"My question, Professor Binns?" Hermione said rather desperately. Once Binns really got rolling, Harry knew, he could go on for _hours._ They'd still be here come dawn.

"Oh, yes, your question." Binns paused in his hovering, and went to sit behind his desk. He would have looked very much the professor, Harry thought, if not for the fact that due to his short stature, only his head really showed. Well, that and the fact that he was see-through.

" _Cambiare_ ," Hermione rushed the word out before Binns could launch into another lecture.

" _Cambiare_ ," the ghost repeated.

"Yes. What is it?"

"Latin for change, or exchange. Our nearly constant use of Latin for spells and incantations was long thought to be a means of veiling magical activities from church authority, but in fact it long predates the formation of any religions organized around the language itself--"

"We found a reference to a _spell_ called _Cambiare_ , Professor," Harry interrupted, this time. From the corner of his eye, he watched Hermione use her wand to light the fire, then slump in exhaustion. That made him feel pretty guilty. In between searching the Restricted Section and trying to keep up with her schoolwork, not to mention her Head Girl duties, she hadn't been getting much sleep.

"A powerful spell," Harry continued, grateful that Binns hadn't launched into another lecture. "But the reference was obscure. We couldn't tell quite what _Cambiare_ was, or what it did. But it's supposed to be very, very old. So old that really, only a history teacher might ever have heard of it. Is there anything you can tell us?"

Amazingly enough, the inquiry seemed to have silenced the verbose professor. Binns' ghostly eyelids blinked, and then he opened his eyes wide, and looked first at Harry, then at Hermione. "You're not, I trust, referring to the _Cambiare_ _Podentes_ enchantment?"

Harry shrugged. "Um, don't know. Far as I know, it's just _Cambiare_ _._ "

"Where is your source text?" Binns inquired.

That had Harry going a bit red in the face. "Well, it's a little bit complicated," he tried to explain, forgetting that as far as he was concerned, he was talking to a master of the arcane. "We don't have anything...er, authoritative about this spell, just a reference that's obscure, like I said."

Binns frowned. "I must remember to include more research methods in my curriculum."

"Oh, no," Hermione came awake enough to add. "We've searched the library thoroughly."

Drawing out a quill that looked more like fire than feather, the ghost commented, "I can write you a limited pass to the Restricted Section, because really, Miss Granger, I don't care to discuss _Cambiare_ _Podentes_ unless that is in fact what your source text references."

"Too powerful a spell for students?" Harry questioned, his brow furrowing.

"Thoroughly inappropriate for anyone to dabble in, student or no," Binns corrected. "There's a reason it hasn't been invoked since Caligula, who though not properly termed a wizard owing to the incipient insanity which destroyed his powers at a young age, nonetheless--"

"We've looked in the Restricted Section already, Professor," Harry put in. "It's not referenced anywhere in there."

"Good thing," Binns approved. "Now, is that all? I've a pile of papers to mark, so off you go."

"But we still need to know what it is!" Harry exclaimed, giving up on keeping the prophecy secret. All of Gryffindor and half of Ravenclaw knew about it, even if they hadn't seen Neville's full reconstruction written out, so what was the point? He drew out the parchment, unspelled it, and handed it over. "This is why we need to know, all right? It's not authoritative that we know of, but... it just might be."

Binns put down his firequill. Surprisingly enough, it rested on a pile of parchments without immolating them. Harry wondered how that worked.

When the ghost was finished reading, his expression was about as fierce as Harry had ever seen it. " _Cambiare_ _Podentes,_ without the slightest doubt," he pronounced. "The text describes it perfectly. _Powers crossed, twice-filled powers._ Oh yes, no doubt at all. Your source is authoritative, young man."

"You don't even know where we got it," Harry pointed out.

Binns spun around in his chair, but without spinning the chair itself. "It's a Trelawney seerstyle prophecy, third in a series of such, the form alone tells me that. But that's not why I would regard it as authentic. Think about it, Miss Granger, Mr Potter. Whoever uttered this knew enough about _Cambiare_ _Podentes_ to describe it accurately. This, in reference to a rite that by its very nature, no one living can initiate? Of course the text is authoritative!"

 _Wow,_ Harry thought. _He spoke with emotion, no more drone. Whatever this Cambiare Podentes is, it must be a big deal. A really, really big deal. Enough to defeat Voldemort, once and for all._

"So then, what is this spell?" When Binns said nothing, Harry brushed his fringe aside with his fingers and pressed, "Surely I'm entitled to know. The marked one? The lightning bolt? What is this prophecy telling me to do?"

Binns floated upward, then frowned down at him. "You aren't going to like it."

Hermione's brow was furrowed. " _Cambiare_ _Podentes,_ " she murmured, reaching into her memory. "Exchange of powers?"

"I have to trade powers with... someone?" _Snape,_ he'd almost said out loud.

The ghost teacher shook his head. "That's not quite the case. It's an old rite, Mr Potter. A blood rite, but it goes beyond mere blood. I... I'm afraid I can't say more. It isn't done, to discuss such things with students. Good night to you both."

Harry jumped to his feet. "Professor, I need to know what this spell is even for! It's important. Don't you understand? The Dark Lord, all that, ten thousand years of doom if I don't do this and do it right?"

Binns had been drifting toward the wall, but he appeared to reconsider. "True. Unfortunately for you, you're more than a student." He gave a long sigh. "Very well. _Cambiare_ _Podentes_ is a means of granting one wizard access to the powers of another."

"Twice-filled powers," Hermione remembered.

"Quite." Binns cleared his throat, despite not really having one to clear. "But the price is high. Very high." He looked straight at Harry, then closed his ghostly eyes. "You'll have access to another wizard's powers, but only if you give him... well, everything you are."

"Everything I am?" Harry echoed in a high-pitched voice.

Binns nodded. "It's an enslavement charm, young man, and one with very specific requirements. But the most important thing is this: it's binding, final, and absolutely, unconditionally irrevocable."

Harry stared at the ghost in horror, his mouth gaping wide, and shot from his chair so fast it skidded against the wall. Then, without a glance at Hermione, he was running down the stairs and out of the classroom.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

** Friday, May 8, 1998 ---- 12:08 a.m. **

Hermione caught up with him in five minutes, though Harry didn't make that very difficult. By then, he was sitting underneath a portrait of two furious wizards squaring off for a duel. Knees pulled up to his chest, chin tucked down, Harry was pretty much concentrating on breathing and nothing else.

"Harry," she started to say as she crouched down by his side, the invisibility cloak draped across her arm.

"Not here," Harry interrupted, jerking a thumb backwards to indicate the painting.

"Oh, right," Hermione murmured, pulling him to a stand, looping her arm around him when his legs actually wobbled a bit. "Come on. I know a stretch of wall without listening ears."

Only when they were well into the corridors of Ravenclaw did Hermione stop. Harry huddled up against the wall again, miserable, and glared at her rather balefully. "There's not much you can say to make this better, you know."

"Maybe Binns has it wrong," Hermione tried, holding out the parchment.

Harry took it, growling, "Ha. He thought it was this _Podentes_ charm even before he read the stuff Trelawney spouted about twice-filled powers."

"Well then, maybe you have it wrong. Maybe..." She lowered her voice to a bare whisper. "Maybe Professor Snape has to pledge himself to be... er, _your_ slave, Harry."

Harry hit the floor with his fist, welcoming the sharp jolt of pain. "It's a trade, Hermione. Servitude for magic. Now, why would Snape be the one to get the twice-filled powers? _He's_ not the one who's going to slay Voldemort. _I_ have to, so I'm the one who's going to need double my usual supply of magic!"

Hermione drew in a little breath. "Harry, you're getting ahead of yourself. Just because you survived the killing curse as a baby doesn't mean you have to kill You-Know-Who!"

"Oh, yes it does," Harry groaned, and proceeded to tell her every word of Trelawney's first true prophecy, the one he'd learned about at the end of fifth year. "Got it?" he questioned when he was through. "Marked his equal, Hermione. Equal. I can't kill him unless I become more than that, can I? I'm going to _need_ double my usual powers. And if I _don't_ kill him, then I'm dead. Sooner than I used to think, too."

Hermione had been kneeling in front of him, but at that, she scooted to his side and leaned in close against him. Harry put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her even closer, liking the way she fit there.

"If you're his equal, then he can't kill you either," she quietly pointed out. "Which means you won't need this _Cambiare_ _Podentes,_ you see?"

"I thought of that when I heard the prophecy after Sirius died," Harry admitted. "I thought about it a lot, actually. And the way I figured it, I'm Voldemort's equal in raw power, but nowhere near his equal in how to use it. He's got, what, fifty years of experience on me, something like that. And trust me, Hermione, he knows how to get to me. He's..." Harry gulped, because friends or no, he'd never really explained this to her before. "He's possessed me, all right? Literally. And the year before that, Voldemort used _Cruciatus_ on me. Being his so-called equal didn't help me there. I'd have died that night, if not for the fact that my wand --my _wand,_ Hermione, not _me_ \-- initiated _Priori Incantatem_ against his."

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione wrapped both arms around him then, and just held on, shaking. It didn't solve his problem, or make him forget what he'd heard in Binns' office, but it did make him feel less alone. That was something, wasn't it? Actually, it was a lot.

After a moment, Harry put his other arm around her, and hugged her close as he dropped a kiss on the top of her soft brown hair. They sat like that for a while, not talking, not moving, just sharing each other's sorrows. Harry had never known anything like it. He didn't have childhood memories of being cuddled after scraping his knee; he'd never known how much comfort there could be in a quietly offered touch. Resting his cheek on her hair, then, he thought about that. It was ridiculous, really, that this could feel so good. It didn't change anything, not one thing. It certainly didn't change any of the prophecies that ruled his life.

But still, it really, really helped. It kept the utter desolation at bay.

"I love you, Hermione," he whispered against her hair, hugging her a little bit more tightly. It felt like time was sliding over him, like they could crouch together forever, and let the rest of the world pass them by. Of course, the mood didn't last. It didn't even have a chance.

"How touching," a familiar sneering voice announced. "Harry Potter with the Head Girl, no less."

_Snape,_ thought Harry. _The absolute last person I want to see, right now. Wait, scratch that. He's the last person I ever want to see, but right now could not possibly be a worse time._

Harry rose to his feet and helped Hermione up, too.

"Isn't the Astronomy Tower the usual place for these tawdry little adolescent trysts?" Snape mocked, narrowing his eyes as Harry averted his.

"Sir." It was Hermione who answered, her voice as poised as if she were about to deliver a presentation in class. "Harry and I had an errand to run, but we have finished. If you will excuse us, we will return to the Tower, now."

"Your _errand_ required an invisibility cloak, Miss Granger?" Snape flicked his hand in contempt at the multicoloured swath of fabric Hermione still held clutched in one hand.

Hermione looked up at the tall Potions Master, her brown eyes calm. "Yes, Professor, it did. Will you please excuse us, now?"

"You'll be dismissed when I hear Potter's version of events," Snape drawled, studying Harry intently. "I've yet to hear of an _errand_ that required avowals of love."

Harry did look at him, then, his green eyes blazing. Six more weeks, he'd thought, and he wouldn't have to put up with any more of Snape's sarcastic shite. Yeah, _he'd thought._ After that charming conversation with Binns, he wasn't sure _what_ he thought, but if anything was for sure, it was that Snape was out of line. Way out of line. "What business of yours is it if I love Hermione and tell her so?"

Snape didn't much care for the question, it seemed.

"It's my _business,_ " he roared, "that you're skulking about in Ravenclaw after midnight with only the most imbecilic excuses for your presence here!"

Harry knew better than to say what came out of his mouth next, but he was so angry that he honestly didn't care what the man did in response. "And why are _you_ skulking about, Professor? Can't you get a date?"

Snape clenched his teeth. "My presence here is authorized; yours is not. One would think your experience with a blood quill would have taught you not to tell lies, though along with breaking rules, it appears to be a favourite pastime of our golden-boy-saviour. So go on, Potter, ignore that ugly scar on your hand--I suppose you're used to bizarre disfigurements by now--and answer my question! What was this _errand_ you were about at this hour? _Well?_ "

After hearing that asinine excuse for a speech, it gave Harry a peculiar sort of satisfaction to state nothing but purest truth. "We had to ask Professor Binns a question," Harry answered. " _Sir._ "

"Oh, truly," sneered Snape. "It couldn't wait until morning, or Merlin forbid, History class itself. For that matter, what possible reason have _you_ to ask the History Master anything, Potter? As I recall, history was such a challenge for your gnat-sized brain that you stopped taking it after you rather spectacularly failed your Ordinary Wizarding Level!"

"Hermione had the question," Harry returned, drawing himself up to his full height. It wasn't much, compared to Snape, but at least this year he'd grown half a head taller than Hermione. He threw back his shoulders for good measure, and said with dignity, "I came to safeguard her in case a nasty Slytherin came lurking around."

His tone didn't leave much confusion as to just which _nasty Slytherin_ he had in mind.

"And the invisibility cloak?" Snape snapped back.

"I didn't particularly care to duel," Harry spat, "not if we could avoid it. Not after what happened last month, Malfoy being _splashed_ against the wall like that. Terrible mess. A wonder Madam Pomfrey managed to scrape enough of him up to reconstitute him, but he really hasn't seemed the same since. _So_ sorry to have damaged your Prefect, _sir._ "

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for insolence," Snape said through gritted teeth. "And ten more for being out so late, Head Girl or no. Next time, Potter, invite the girl to your room, not out into the hallways!" He stalked away in a billowing swirl of robes.

Once he was out of earshot, Hermione turned to Harry, her mouth twisted with bemusement. Maybe, even a little bit of respect. Reluctant respect. "You lie astonishingly well. That was a really good story." She punched him lightly on the arm. "Safeguard me, eh?"

Harry tried to grin, but it came off as more as a grimace, given what was on his mind.

"Shame about the points, though," Hermione commiserated, misunderstanding the expression.

"Points are hardly the issue," Harry sighed, and began to trudge his way back to the Tower. "In six weeks the points won't matter, but _that..._ what Binns told us. And it'd be irrevocable? As in _permanent? Ugh._ "

"We don't know the details as of yet," Hermione reminded him. "Don't panic. It might not mean what you think."

"Or it might mean worse," Harry muttered. After that, they walked along in silence, but when Hermione opened her mouth to tell the Fat Lady the Gryffindor password, Harry grabbed her hand to stop her. "You... um, you know what I said was, um... well, you do know that Snape took it the wrong way, right? I mean, I do love you, just not... you know."

"Mmm," she agreed, lacing her fingers with his. "Yes, I know. You could just as easily have said that to Ron, if he'd been there to help you when you heard such awful, awful things."

Harry laughed, tension flowing out of him. "I don't think I'd have kissed Ron's hair, though," he teased.

"I kiss it," Hermione brightly volunteered. "It's nice. He uses applesbane shampoo. Now, come on in, Harry. Get some sleep. Everything'll look better in the morning."

For once in her life, though, Hermione was unequivocally wrong. In the morning, matters began to look worse. Much worse.

  
  
  
  


** Friday, May 8, 1998 ---- 9:27 a.m. **

Not too surprisingly, the day first started to go downhill during Potions class. Neither Harry nor Hermione had gotten much sleep the night before, though not for the reasons Professor Snape obviously supposed. Hermione could normally tolerate sleep deprivation fairly well, but she'd been researching _Cambiare_ practically around the clock for days, and it was beginning to show. 

She added finely shredded Pirechrun roots to their Magnification Potion, which wouldn't have been a problem if not for the fact that the directions specified _minced._ The mixture in the cauldron began to bubble, and then froth, and then just started frothing upwards past the rim like an ever-flowing fountain. It flowed out down the sides and onto their work table, then continued just pulsating forth, litre past litre of it, until the table was swamped with dripping orange goo that began to ooze onto the floor. And _still_ the cauldron bubbled forth more potion, magnitudes more than it could possibly even _hold._

Harry, feeling even stupider than usual, had sort of backed away when the cauldron began to fountain, and was just staring slack-jawed. And half-asleep. Hermione was trying to do _something_ to alleviate the problem, but her wand was unsteady and she couldn't seem to really think of a charm or hex that covered the situation.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Snape roared as he came charging across the classroom, his arms full of the vials he'd gone to collect from the storeroom. He glared first at Hermione, then at Harry, before turning his backs on them, whipping out his wand, and curtly announcing, " _Eliminare sumare._ " 

All at once, the cauldron sat empty, though tendrils of orange vapours still rose from it. Every trace of potion was gone, even the globs that he been oozing into the cracks in the floor. 

Snape whirled around to face the class again. "Let that be a lesson to you all," he snarled, "not to spend valuable class time gazing into your Potion partner's besotted eyes instead of reading the directions clearly indicated on the blackboard! We are here to _learn_ , ladies and gentlemen. To prepare for the N.E.W.T. exams!" His eyes zeroed in on the two Gryffindors who had been working the fateful cauldron. "Mr. Potter and Miss Granger! You may frolic all you like in the recesses of Ravenclaw, though why you don't utilize a proper _bed_ is anyone's guess, but despite your raging hormones you will manage nonetheless to get enough _sleep_ to function adequately. You will not make a mockery of my classroom again! _Is that clear?_ "

"Y... yes, Professor," Hermione murmured, blushing a deep crimson at the implications Snape had just paraded before the rest of the seventh-year students.

"And you, Mr Potter? Is that clear to you as well, or should I repeat it in monosyllabic--that means, more or less, short--words?"

"It's clear, Professor," Harry grated, a tick in his cheek betraying the fury he was keeping bottled. It was easier to keep it in, this morning; he'd had almost seven years' practice being at feigning respect during Potions class.

Snape, however, had almost seven years' practice at baiting Harry Potter.

"You'll reserve your lust for Miss Granger until a more appropriate venue presents itself? Such as the no doubt irresistible invitation of a cold stone floor after midnight, in full view of any passers-by? Like to parade your conquests, do you? Has it been too long since our resident celebrity was given a mention by the papers?"

Harry didn't know how to reply to all that, it was so full of untruth, innuendo, and outright vicious lies. He doubted that a simple _Fuck off, Snape,_ would really be of much benefit in the long run, however good it would feel crossing his lips. No, the best possible response would be one which might mitigate the damage Snape's hateful words had caused. After all, Harry knew better than anyone how fast gossip spread and how awful it was to be the subject of it. Hermione didn't deserve to have everyone staring at her and calling her nasty names.

_Set the record straight,_ he thought. _Well, sort of straight._

"I'd be the happiest bloke alive if Hermione would have me," he drawled, eyeing her longingly and flashing his teeth in a winsome smile before returning his attention to the Potions Master. "Though you know, I'm sure she wouldn't be amenable to _any_ part of the scenario you outlined." Harry blinked as though thinking that over. "Until I can find a way to woo her heart on bended knee, I suppose I'll have to just keep on admiring her from afar, sir."

Hermione's mouth dropped open, her eyes wide as she stared at Harry, and then a giggle started at the back of her throat, her eyes watering as she tried to hold it in.

"I said no besotted glances!" Snape roared. Evidently deciding that concentrating on his students' love lives was unproductive, the teacher turned his attention to the matter at hand. "Potter, since I know that Granger here can read, I assume you must be the cretin who failed to mince the Pirechrun roots?"

Still in a get-Hermione-off-the-hook mood, Harry shrugged to accept the blame. What did he care? Snape had it in for him, anyway, which meant he didn't have a hope of a passing mark. He might as well help _her_ grade stay above Troll range.

"You absolute _imbecile,_ " Snape breathed in disgust. "It's a potion, not something you could use to get her drunk! You mince the roots to distribute their properties evenly! This is basic, Potter! What part of first-year Potions did you manage to _acquire_ , for Merlin's sake? So tell me, if there's anything at all but Quidditch in that mush between your rather oddly-shaped ears, why did your Magnifying Potion react so badly after your fit of complete and utter stupidity?"

Harry wasn't quite sure what made him answer the way he did. Spite, maybe. Or a desire to see Snape go up in a conflagration of ire. Or maybe it was remembering what Binns had said, and thinking that if ever there was a what-the-fuck moment, this was surely it.

"I dunno," he drawled, opening his eyes wide and adopting the most vapid, brainless expression he could muster. "'Cause it wanted to? Um... 'cause it's _magic?_ "

Snape's dark eyes went absolutely black. "Get out!" he bellowed, steam practically pouring from his ears, or so Harry fancied. "Get out, and don't come back, you moronic excuse for a wizard! Now I know why the killing curse bounced off your blasted head, there was no brain in there for it to find! You're probably living and breathing on a undifferentiated nervous system based entirely in you arse! Didn't you hear me? Don't your ears work, either? Out, out!"

Harry left the classroom at a deliberately leisurely pace, just to see if the man would actually explode. Pity, he didn't. What he did do, as Harry heard from the hallway, was round on Hermione and demand, "Are you as worthless as that waste of space I just dropped from this class, Miss Granger? Or do _you_ know why your cauldron oozed potion over half the dungeon floor?"

"The shredded root caused an uneven distribution of magical properties," Hermione answered, though her voice was too high to be considered calm. "The Magnifying Potion began magnifying itself. But sir, _I_ was the one who cut the roots too large, not Harry. He didn't do a thing wrong."

"You can defend your peculiar choice of lover another time," Snape passed her comment by. "But as you've so generously taken the blame, we'll leave it at twenty points from Gryffindor _each_ , and Potter dismissed from the class. Permanently."

"But sir--"

"That will be quite enough from you, Miss Granger," Snape interrupted, his voice oozing menace. "Or you will find yourself dropped as well, and what a pity that would be. No Gryffindors to yield up points. Hmm, perhaps we should recall Mr Potter. He may have less reasoning power than a palm frond, but he is always good for ten or twenty points off Gryffindor. On consideration, however, I feel it would be unduly cruel to the _intelligent_ students in the class to inflict upon them Mr Potter's peculiar brand of idiotic attention-seeking stunts. Now, to continue with the properties of Pirechrun roots--"

Harry didn't stay to hear any more.

  
  
  
  


** Friday, May 8, 1998 ---- 12:48 p.m. **

Ron came up behind him at lunch and slapped him on the back, just a little harder than was warranted. "Been hearing some funny things," he remarked as he slid into the chair next to Harry's. "Something about you snogging Hermione last night down in Ravenclaw, and practically proposing to her during Potions?"

Harry glowered at his friend. "The Ravenclaw thing was Snape not knowing the difference between a friendly hug and undying passion." Seeing the Potions Master taking his seat at the head table, Harry raised his voice several notches. "But what can you expect? He's yet to learn the difference between cauldron grease and shampoo!"

"Hold it down," Ron hissed. "What are you trying to do?"

Harry laughed. "Fuck it. Let him prove I wasn't talking about oh... Theodore, there."

Ron glanced over at the Hufflepuff table, and grimaced. "Hmm, somebody really should talk to the kid."

"You do it. Recommend the applesbane shampoo. Hermione says she likes the way it smells when she kisses your hair."

A fleeting look of uncertainty in Ron's eyes was quickly replaced by devilish lights. "Oh, I get it. So the thing in Potions this morning, that was just a little Snape-baiting? Yeah, word got around that he really went all out to insult Hermione over the supposed snogging. You were just doing your usual hero thing, weren't you?"

Harry pressed an open palm against his heart, and vowed, "I had to defend the fair lady's honour."

Ron burst out laughing. "Might have been worth two more years of Potions, just to see it. But I heard you got kicked out? As in, completely?"

Harry sprinkled some croutons onto his soup and ate a few spoonfuls before he bothered to answer. "Yeah, I did. So what? There's only a few weeks left, and you know as well as I do that our end of term grades don't mean squat. The N.E.W.T.s are all that matters. And believe me, if anything won't help me on the exam, it's six more weeks of hearing Snape explain in excruciating detail just how stupid and useless I am. I'll do a lot better spending that time studying on my own."

"Yeah," Ron said, his tone encouraging, though the look in his eyes said he wasn't sure.

"Hermione almost had a hysterical fit when I went into my love struck swain routine," Harry mentioned, swigging his juice. "It was priceless. Snape thought she was giggling because she was, er, flirting back, I guess. And that just made him madder. Imagine, flirting going on in _his_ classroom, right under his great ugly nose."

Ron laughed, and then Harry laughed too, and the longer he thought about it, the funnier it got. He laughed so hard that tears rolled down his face, until it felt like he couldn't even get a breath in edgewise.

Harry didn't know it, but that was going to be the last good laugh he'd have for a long, long time.

  
  
  
  


** Friday, May 8, 1998 ---- 3:32 p.m. **

Professor McGonagall raised an eyebrow when the owl soared in through the window of the Transfiguration classroom, but the note it delivered was self-explanatory. One quick glance at it and she was announcing to the seventh-years, "Mr. Potter will report to the headmaster's office straight away." A second later, quill in hand, she was scrawling something across a scrap of parchment, then pressing it into Harry's hand. "Straight away," she reminded him.

Hermione gave him a nod of support, and by her side, Ron met his eyes and mouthed, "Don't you worry, Snape's a git."

But it wasn't Snape who had demanded a conference, though it took Harry some while to realise as much. First he had to decipher McGonagall's writing. So, "Skiving Snackboxes" was the password these days? The Weasley twins would be pleased to hear that, Harry thought. Once he was in the headmaster's office and looking at him across that vast desk, he had to suffer through interminable offers of sweets and tea. Harry finally took a cup just to get matters underway, and forthrightly asked, "Is this about Professor Snape booting me out of his Advanced Potions class?"

The headmaster's own cup clattered to its saucer, then leaned sideways to scowl at Harry, blaming him for the ill treatment. Then with a huff, the little cup turned its back on impertinent students. Smiling a bit, Harry stroked his index finger along the rim of his saucer, and felt the little cup atop it shiver with delight. His smile grew wider.

"You appear happy to have been dropped from Potions," Albus Dumbledore observed, his grey eyebrows raised. "I must admit that surprises me, Harry. Both the news, and your apparent pleasure at it. I know that you and Professor Snape have never gotten along--"

"Understatement of the century," Harry muttered under his breath.

The headmaster ignored that. "But I understood that you wished to apply to the Auror's program, which, as you well know, requires a high score on several N.E.W.T.s, including Potions."

Determined to stick to his plan, which was not to worry about Snape's decision, Harry leaned forward and snatched a biscuit from the tray that had just appeared on the desk. "Oh, I'll still sit the exam," he said, munching. "And I'll be ready, sir. Since Professor Snape declines to have me in his class, I'll simply prepare on my own. It's just a few weeks left, anyway." He wiped his fingers on his robes, and beamed the headmaster a confident smile.

"A few weeks can make a great difference," Dumbledore insisted. "I'll speak to Professor Snape and see to it that he reinstates you."

"No," Harry refused. "He'll just complain that you're giving me special treatment, sir, and it'll make him ten times more unbearable than before. I don't need to be harassed and hounded and told every thirty seconds that I'll never amount to anything, sir. Really, if I want to be ready for that test, I just need to be left alone to study for it."

"Harry," the headmaster scolded, "I'm quite sure that Professor Snape isn't as intolerable as all that, at least, not now that you no longer have him for private lessons. Certainly during a class in which your peers are present he wouldn't stoop to--"

"Humiliate me?" Harry took a breath, and plunged ahead. "Forgive me, sir, but you simply don't have the facts. Professor Snape has routinely sought to humiliate me ever since I was eleven. The man makes his hatred and contempt for me quite plain at every turn, and as he's taken it upon himself to eject me from the class, I feel no compulsion whatever to get myself back into it."

"Harry--"

" _No,_ " Harry repeated forcefully. "Today, for example, in front of my peers, he said that I had ugly ears, that I was a cretin who hadn't learned to read, that I only understand words of one syllable, and that I had mush for brains. And that's not counting his lurid speculations about my personal life."

"I see," Dumbledore murmured. "Ehem. Well, that is quite a catalogue of complaints, Harry. There must have been some provocation on your part, surely?"

"Only that Hermione and I were really tired, and got the potion wrong," Harry retorted. "Snape of course assumed we'd been shagging until dawn or something, and it all escalated from there."

"Professor Snape, Harry."

"Not any more." Harry popped another biscuit between his teeth, then stood. "Is that it, then?"

"Do you wish to file a formal complaint about any of his... comments?"

"So he can take points from Gryffindor? No thanks."

"Sit down, Harry," Dumbledore mildly instructed. "All this business comes as a mild shock to me. I asked you up here for something else entirely."

"Oh, okay." Harry sat, and folded his hands in his lap. He should have been expecting what came next, he supposed. He really should have, but he'd been managing fairly well not to think about things. The whole scene in Potions had actually helped with that.

"Professor Binns has been to see me," the headmaster began, and after that, no amount of distraction could get Harry's mind off his real problem.

"Shite," he said, succinctly, then braced himself for a reprimand.

But none came. The headmaster merely nodded, and said, "Oh, yes indeed."

  
  
  
  


** Friday, May 8, 1998 ---- 3:55 p.m. **

Harry didn't want to get into the prophecy, and certainly not the details, but the terms of it didn't leave him with much choice. It wasn't just that his life was on the line--after all, when _wasn't_ it? Harry was well-used to that. But _these_ predictions encompassed a whole lot more than just his life. Voldemort ascendant, the Wizarding world laid to waste, Muggleborns and half-bloods slain en masse. Hermione would be killed, and Justin, and Seamus... Harry groaned.

"What did Professor Binns tell you, sir?" Harry ventured, unable to quite meet the headmaster's gaze.

"Enough to concern me. Frankly, Harry, I'd thought you'd outgrown your penchant for keeping secrets of this magnitude."

"It was only last night we even found out what the _Cambiare_ reference meant," Harry defended himself. "And... after that, I just... needed some time."

"After hearing you might have to bind yourself through a _Podentes_ Charm? I would imagine so."

The headmaster's gaze that time was kind, which gave Harry the impetus to ask, "Do you know the spell, sir?"

"I know _of_ it, certainly," he calmly answered. "I could not incant it, but if my understanding is correct, the prophecy itself speaks to that?"

"Yes," Harry murmured, a sick feeling roiling through his belly. "Um, sir, what exactly does the charm require of me?"

"I think perhaps," the headmaster cautiously replied, "we should acquire an accurate rendering of the prophecy before we proceed any farther down that road. Wouldn't that be wise? No need to trouble ourselves with _ifs_ , Harry. Let's first see what Sibyll said."

"Sibyll," Harry echoed, croaking.

"Of course." The headmaster took a biscuit himself, though he simply held it between his gnarled fingers. "She is the one who began all this, in a sense. You do remember, Harry, that the prophecy she gave me in the Hog's Head was partially overheard, which circumstance led to the death of your parents? It only stands to reason that she would be the one to announce the ending of the story too, as it were. Besides," at that, he bit into his biscuit, clearly savouring it, "she is descended from the celebrated seer Cassandra Trelawney."

"She's a fraud and you know it. You told me so, yourself."

"Oh, indeed yes. She's by and large a fraud, though to her credit, I don't believe she knows as much. Still, we know she's given authentic prophecy before, and not coincidentally, the subject matter concerned yourself and Voldemort. So, there we have it."

Harry closed his eyes, feeling all at once defeated.

"I understand that you made a record of the prophecy? On parchment, how very quaint." The headmaster quirked a smile. "However, you told Professor Binns it wasn't authoritative. You do know what would be, don't you?" He pointed to his temple, a knowing look in his eyes.

"It wasn't me that heard it," Harry hastened to explain.

"Ah, I didn't realise. Well, with whom did Sybill share her deepest insights this time?"

Harry let a sigh escape him, and slumped in his chair. From here on in, he sensed, things could only get worse. "Neville."

"Mr. Longbottom. Interesting," the headmaster mused. "Well, we shall have to call him up here, and see just what we have to work with." A few flicks of his wand, and another owl was departing, an enchanted scroll tied to its leg. "Now, is there anything else you'd like to tell me, Harry? Anything at all?"

"I think you were right before, and we'd better just hear it from Trelawney herself, so to speak," Harry returned, slumping further.

"Professor Trelawney, Harry."

"Yeah," Harry muttered with extreme reluctance. It came to him that he really should be handling this better. It wasn't every week, after all, that he was handed a weapon he could use to kill Voldemort. Whatever else the _Podentes_ charm turned out to be, it was first and foremost a weapon, Harry suddenly realised. With those twice-filled powers, he'd be more than equal to the task of dispatching the evil son-of-a-bitch once and for all. And that had to be worth whatever the enchantment ended up costing him, it just had to.

Especially since he probably didn't have a choice, anyway. What was he going to do, walk away and pretend that it didn't make a difference to the world at large? Or to him? However bad _Cambiare_ _Podentes_ turned out to be, he really didn't believe he'd prefer to die at nineteen. And in any case, if he took the coward's way out and died without dispatching Voldemort, it really would make a mockery of his parents' sacrifice.

"Headmaster," he abruptly announced, "I'd like to go get the material I've amassed about the prophecy. It might prove useful, after we speak with Neville."

Dumbledore shifted in his chair, looking distinctly uncomfortable. "You located a text which touches on the _Cambiare_ _Podentes_ ritual, Harry? You already know what it entails, what it encompasses?"

"Oh, no," Harry denied. "Is there a book? That would be useful. I just... used my record of the prophecy to try to figure a few things out."

"Ah, all right then," the headmaster murmured, drawing a deep breath of relief. "Off you go, then, fetch your materials, but come back straight away."

Harry nodded, then left the headmaster's office.

  
  
  
  


** Friday, May 8, 1998 ---- 4:21 p.m. **

Neville was there when he returned, his pudgy features looking a bit alarmed as he stared at the pensieve set out on the headmaster's desk. "Do I have to?" he was saying, as Harry swept in through the door, his journal tucked beneath one arm.

"Now, now, it won't hurt a bit," Dumbledore was assuring the young man, one hand lightly patting him on the shoulder. "Harry. You've seen me use this, and Professor Snape as well, I believe. Did it look like it pained either one of us to draw our memories forth in physical form?"

"No, it looked a bit soothing, actually," Harry told Neville.

The headmaster's usual flawless tactics, however, hadn't accounted for Neville's personal history with a certain Potions Master. "Snape put his thoughts in that thing?" the boy gasped, shuddering a bit. "I don't want my mind getting mixed up with whatever _he_ might have left in there."

"Now, Neville," Dumbledore began, but Harry interrupted.

"I know. The prospect's nothing short of awful. But Neville? I'm sure your transcription is close, but I really do need to know just what the old bat said. It's the most important thing there is, right now, and not just because the whole world could be teetering on the edge. It's..." Harry closed his eyes. "We have the same birthday, you know? Tell me that July 31st doesn't seem a lot closer than it did just a few days ago."

"Yeah, Harry," Neville groaned. "Yeah, okay. Sorry to be a prat."

"You're _not._ You're a friend, and a good one," Harry assured him.

"Very well, then," the headmaster said, and touched his wand tip to the brown hair over Neville's temple. "Just think, now, of going up the ladder, of how you entered Professor Trelawney's classroom, of what she said. Think, yes, all of it, that's right, my boy..."

At length, Dumbledore drew a heavy, sodden strand of silver-white mist from Neville's mind, and urged it through the air until with a _plop_ it fell into the pensieve and began to swirl itself into colours. Harry held his journal tightly, hoping against hope that Neville's version of the prophecy was somehow mangled... that it didn't say what it had seemed to, last night in Binns' office.

"Ready, Harry?" the headmaster questioned. "We can view it together. Neville, you're welcome to join us; you simply lean forward toward the pensieve until--"

"No, no," the boy refused. "In person was enough, believe me."

Dumbledore took Harry's hand, and then together, as he'd said, they plunged their faces into the stone bowl and watched Trelawney's eyes go huge and blank as she began to speak in a voice not her own. To Harry's dismay, the poem was largely the same as the one he'd memorized, but there were subtle differences scattered throughout, as well as a few lines Neville had completely missed: 

> > _When the marked one marks his nineteenth year,_  
>  the Dark Lord's triumph shall appear.  
>  When he who should have died thus dies,  
>  The Dark Lord's grandeur shall arise.   
>  Ten thousand years to rule the land,   
>  to give his minions open hand,  
>  to give all others unto death  
>  for tainted blood the only test.  
>  And yet there lives a ray of hope,  
>  Salvation in a lightning bolt.   
>  While he remains, all is not lost,  
>  vanquish dark by powers crossed.  
>  But first he must live past the night,  
>  by fully yielding to his plight.  
>  Complete the rite so that he may,  
>  through spells that none alive can say,  
>  and knowledge in the ancient way,  
>  give all himself upon that day.   
>  Cambiare is the key,  
>  else unto death yield sky and sea.  
>  Invoke the rite not just in name,   
>  for only truth shall evil tame.  
>  His life oft saved though hate doth grow,  
>  by one the Dark Lord used to know,  
>  and now to him all will must go,   
>  lest twice-filled powers never flow. 

Three times straight through, Sibyll Trelawney repeated the poem, while behind her in the windows of her tower, a raging storm made the daylight sky flash white. Her mouth so slack the drool dripped from the corners, usual wildly gesticulating hands hanging limply at her sides for once, she looked the absolute picture of insanity.

Insanity, or something else.

After three repetitions of the horrid poem, she suddenly snapped into another persona entirely, and asked Neville if he'd like some tea. 

And that was it. Harry felt himself pulled out of the vision by the headmaster's hand on his elbow, and once they had emerged back into Dumbledore's opulent office, he heard a kindly old voice asking, "Should you like to see it again, Harry? Alone this time, perhaps?"

"Ugh. No. Thanks," Harry managed, wrapping both arms around himself and shivering.

The headmaster flicked his wand at the fireplace and caused the embers there to glow a bit more brightly. Then he turned to Neville. "We may need to keep this memory here for a short while, if you are amenable."

"Keep it," Neville groaned. "I think I'd really rather not have it back."

"Oh, I am very sorry," Dumbledore murmured, appearing to study the arched ceiling with great interest. "That is not a... wise notion, I am afraid, my boy. If you think a moment on your parents, I dare say you'll understand my concern."

"Harry knows about my parents, headmaster," Neville announced. 

"Ah. Well, then we understand one another, you and I."

Neville nodded.

"Sherbet lemon?" the headmaster solicitously inquired. "No? Chocolate Frog? Fizzing Whizbee?"

"No, thank you."

"You, Harry?"

"Sweets aren't much against what I've just heard," Harry sighed. "Though I don't suppose I'd turn down another cup of tea." For some reason, he felt like it might fortify him for whatever happened next. A cup and saucer appeared straight away in his hands, the fragrant brew still steaming. Harry took a sip, remembering to stroke the edge of the purring cup.

Sinking into a chair with it, he glanced blearily up at Neville. "Thanks. Really."

"But... what does it all mean, Harry?"

"I don't know," he lied, though of course it was at least halfway true. He didn't know very much. "But we're going to figure it out, and after we do, I'll put an end to that rat bastard once and for all. Count on it, Neville. He'll pay for what happened to your parents."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "If you'd be so kind," he politely asked Neville, stepping towards the door. "Harry and I have some thinking to do. We may need perhaps one or two other people to view your memory. With your permission, of course? And then I shall put your memories back where they belong."

The headmaster ushered the boy out, talking to him all the way down the enchanted staircase. By the time he returned, Harry had drained his cup. Neville's transcription out on the desk, he was marking corrections on it with a never-out quill that wrote with violent purple ink. Once he finished, he passed it over to the headmaster and sighed. "There. It's word perfect, now, though Neville had it pretty close to begin with."

Dumbledore studied it while Harry sat back and cradled his teacup in both hands.

"The end, here," the headmaster finally said, tapping the parchment with his wand so that the lines in question glowed a burnished gold. "I take it you understand who else needs to hear the prophecy in full?"

Harry sighed. "Yes, I understand."

"Perhaps it's time you tell me the conclusions you've formed about what _Cambiare_ _Podentes_ might entail, Harry."

Harry shrugged. "Professor Binns said it was blood magic to grant one wizard access to another wizard's powers, and... er, that it involved, er... slavery." Dumbledore was gazing into his eyes, his own rather fixed, and it only slowly came to Harry that he was being subtly Legilimized. "You can see for yourself what I know and don't know," he crossly erupted, tossing his journal onto the desk. "Everything that's crossed my mind as I tried to puzzle the prophecy out. I haven't written in it since talking to Binns, though." 

"Written contemplations are all well and good, but sometimes, it's better to talk out our thoughts," Dumbledore observed, breaking eye contact. "And so?"

"I had it down within five minutes of leaving Binns' office," Harry sighed. "I'm going to need Snape's powers as well as my own; that's how I'll be able to defeat Voldemort, and if I don't take advantage of the charm, I won't be able to withstand his own attack. I'll die come the end of July. But the price is high, Binns said, so I can only assume that means I have to--" he gulped, hardly able to say it. "Um, well, I guess that's where the enslavement part of it comes in."

The headmaster nodded. "Astutely reasoned. I could tell you a great deal more about _Podentes_ , Harry." He paused. "I think, however, it is time we called in Professor Snape. However uncomfortable you may be, the prophecy does involve you both."

"All right," Harry agreed, trying not to show his tension. "Might I have more tea?"

"Certainly." A house elf appeared and poured it, then vanished in a flash of glitter. The cup, once filled, began to vibrate softly in his hands again. It helped. Harry closed his eyes as the headmaster tossed Floo powder into the fire and asked the Potions Master if he would be so good as to come up for a sherbet lemon and a chat.

  
  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

 

 

** Friday, May 8, 1998 ---- 5:04 p.m. **

Severus Snape stepped from the fireplace, fastidiously brushed his robes free of ash, and strode forward until he towered over Harry and the headmaster, who were both seated. His black gaze snapped from one to the other, his mouth twisting as he sneered, "I believe I can ascertain the reasons for your summons, Headmaster--"

"No, I don't think you can, Severus," Dumbledore put in mildly.

Snape never stopped speaking. "However, after the events of this morning, I can assure you that this... _student,_ is entirely unqualified to remain in my seventh-year class."

Harry was pretty sure that the brief hesitation had been so Snape could think of something more appropriate to call him than the usual _dimwit._

"Severus, Severus," Dumbledore was saying in a soothing tone. "I didn't call you and Harry here to discuss course programmes."

Snape's eyebrows rose. "You summoned him?" he asked sharply. "He didn't come in here whinging about this morning? What happened, Potter?" the Potions Master whirled to glare down at him. "Did you send your little _girlfriend_ up here to do your complaining for you?"

"I must say, Severus," the headmaster commented as he bit down on an odd white sweet Harry had never seen before, "you do seem to have a guilty conscience about something. What's all this about this morning? I assure you, Harry hasn't mentioned a thing about your class except to inform me that he's entirely agreeable to preparing for his exams without your help."

Harry took a sip of tea to cover his surprise at the blatant lie, and reminded himself that one could never _completely_ trust Albus Dumbledore, no matter how beneficent he seemed.

"Ah," Snape drawled, clearly puzzled. "Well, that appears to be in order, then. How can I help you, Headmaster?"

"Please, do take a seat, Severus. You make us mere mortals nervous with your incessant batlike hovering, you know."

Harry couldn't help but laugh at that, even if he nearly spewed his tea. "Sorry," he mumbled, wiping at his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. To cover his nervousness, he resumed stroking his teacup, this time moving his thumb slowly from rim to base, over and over. He fancied, if he looked hard enough, he could see a tiny smile curling the porcelain veneer.

Snape merely glowered, though he did lower his stiff frame into a chair and ostentatiously wait. "Well, Albus?" he prompted at length, when the headmaster had yet to say another word.

"Oh, my apologies, Severus," Dumbledore appeared at a loss, which was certainly a sight Harry had never thought to see. "Sherbet lemon? Perhaps some tea? Harry's drinking a lovely fairy-raised blend. Javanese, I believe, though of course you may have a cup of your usual Earl Black if you prefer."

"Headmaster," Snape drawled, sarcasm dripping from every syllable, "I am quite sure you did not bring me up here to discuss the merits of tea blends."

"Quite so, quite so," Albus dithered. "Harry, perhaps you'd care to explain?"

"Me!" Harry exclaimed, his tea sloshing over the rim into the saucer as he jerked his hands. The cup frowned a bit at that, and stopped purring. 

"What's he done now?" Snape sighed in a tone halfway between long-suffering and irritation.

"Cut the attitude!" Harry erupted. "I haven't done a thing!"

"You didn't, perchance, cast some illegal enchantment over Miss Granger?" the Potions Master sneered, turning his way. "That would explain her bizarre attraction to you, not to mention her fit of dishonesty this morning when she attempted to take the blame for your foolhardy handling of expensive potion components!"

"Hermione," Harry grated, "was being honest, a trait I'm sure you've never seen in the mirror, so it's no great wonder you don't recognise it. _And_ she just happens to love me for real, _sir._ Maybe _enchantments_ come to mind because that's the only way a great greasy oaf like you can get a friend!"

"Fifty points from Gryffindor!" Snape roared, but the headmaster held up a hand.

"I think not, Severus. If you will insult Mr Potter, I would think you should expect him to insult you back. In fact, I must insist that you take no more points on his account, whatever he may do."

Snape's harsh whisper reminded Harry a bit of Nagini's hiss. "You would contravene my authority as a teacher, Albus?"

"No, certainly not." Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "It was my understanding that you were not his teacher any longer. Your own determination, I believe?"

Hardly mollified, Snape huffed, "You're doing as you've always done, giving him license to disregard not just rules, but propriety itself this time."

"There are reasons."

"Oh yes, he's our _saviour,_ " came the expected sneer. "Aren't knights in shining armour usually a bit taller, Albus? Oh, but I forget myself. Exceptions are _always_ made for golden boy here, no matter that he's a stupid, thoughtless, thoroughly rude, glory-seeking spoiled brat!"

Harry abruptly stood up and tried for the poise that came so naturally to Hermione. "I'm sorry, Headmaster," he announced, keeping his face schooled in rigid lines. "I thought I could do this, but I can't."

"Harry," the headmaster chided, rising slowly to his own feet. "You must. Everything depends on it. Quite literally _everything._ Ten thousand years' worth, as you well know."

Harry blinked. "Oh, _that._ Um, I didn't mean I couldn't do _that_. It's... necessary, I understand, and whatever else I may be, I'm not a coward." He took a step backwards, not liking the smirk in Snape's gaze. All too soon that expression would turn to... well, he didn't know. Murderous glee, maybe? "I meant, I can't stay here and listen to anything else. Not right now." To his horror, he felt his voice beginning to break. "I mean, he's pushing forty, and you're a hundred and sixty, I think... and doesn't anybody ever stop to think, in between handing me swords to kill off Basilisks and portkeyed cups to take me straight to Voldemort and now _this..._ I'm only eighteen?"

"Fame's a heavy burden, is it, Potter?" the Potions Master sniped.

"Severus!" Dumbledore rebuked him, and then ever so gently to Harry, "Stay, Harry. Please."

Those weren't tears making him blink, they just _weren't_. "I have to study," Harry managed to excuse himself. "I'll be in the library, and then dinner, and then the library again. You can find me. After-- he knows. And then... I'll be ready to face it."

With as much dignity as he could muster, then, Harry headed out the door.

  
  
  
  


** Friday, May 8, 1998 ---- 5:19 p.m. **

"I am quite positive," Severus sneered the minute the door had closed, "that every time that student opens his mouth, he sounds more and more as though he's taken a Babbling Beverage. Are you certain it's only pumpkin juice he drinks with breakfast, lunch, and dinner?"

The Potions Master wasn't expecting Albus Dumbledore to agree that Potter was inane, of course. The headmaster of Hogwarts was practically legend in his loving indulgence of the Boy Who Lived. Still, Severus wasn't at all prepared to hear the old wizard's quiet voice affirm:

"Severus, I do believe I have never been quite so _ashamed_ of you before. And considering the things you have done with your life, that is saying something, it truly is."

"I might have known you'd take his side. I suppose now you're going to insist he be allowed back to wreak havoc in Advanced Potions?"

"This is not about Potions." 

Sitting down again, the headmaster leaned his tired head against the back of his chair, and glared through half-moon glasses. "This is _not_ about Potions," he repeated, more sternly. "It is about a prophecy, Severus. A prophecy concerning him... and you."

"Oh, dear Merlin," Severus mocked. "Dare I guess? I kill him, and plunge us all into eons of darkness. Wouldn't that be the height of irony."

"To think that you call _him_ the idiot," the headmaster sighed. "Honestly, Severus! What have you been doing these past seven years but helping keep Harry Potter alive? I'd need three hands to count the times you've either saved him outright, or worked behind the scenes to appreciably increase his odds of survival."

A deep scowl blighted Severus' features. "Unfortunate that he's so necessary to the cause. It would be a good deal simpler, not to mention more enjoyable, to let one of his hair-raising adventures be the death of him."

"Stop it, Severus! At once!" Dumbledore ordered, raising his voice. "This isn't a time to indulge dark humour. As it turns out, _you_ are necessary to the cause. You are going to save Harry Potter one final time. Because of you, he will go on to defeat Voldemort once and for all, and the wizarding world will finally move beyond this half-light we've suffered these many years. _That's_ the prophecy."

Severus tapped his fingernails against the arm of his chair. In a way, he'd always known this was coming. He'd have to be blind, not to have known. For all he didn't hold with most of what passed for Divination at Hogwarts, there was a peculiar ebb and flow to the universe itself. A certain rhythm. He'd long since accepted that forces beyond his control were pulling him into Potter's sphere, though it didn't make him detest the young man any the less.

"No doubt I'm destined to save him at the expense of my own life," Severus quietly commented, all rancour gone. What cause had he for anger? He'd been a Death Eater; he'd done terrible things. And this final end... while it wasn't absolution, it was at least an end, and perhaps even a fitting one.

"Not at the expense of your life," Albus corrected. "Quite the opposite, Severus. You can only save him at the expense of his."

"Spare me your bizarre machinations, and just talk sense!" Severus erupted.

A small column of garnet light sparkled to life, hovering just above the surface of the headmaster's desk. Then, with a slight _pop,_ it coalesced into a crystal snifter of brandy. Very fine brandy, Severus noted, his finely tuned senses picking up the nuances of the scent. Bottled in Jerez, he thought, in that little _bodega_ the tourists had never heard of, just the local wizards. Knowing it was intended for him, he scooped the offering up while it was still in midair, and held it cradled so as to warm the bottom of the snifter with his palms. 

"Drink it, Severus," Albus recommended.

The Potions Master frowned. "Not, I think, until you've talked sense as I asked. Perhaps you should start with this prophecy. Sibyll, again, I take it? Trust Harry Potter to have acquired his own personal seer."

"See for yourself," Albus invited, waving a hand toward the pensieve which obediently began bobbing its way across the room. 

Severus frowned again, the expression in his eyes growing ever more critical. "Albus, are you sure this isn't some sort of trick? Potter did finally learn Occlumency, you know, though it took his godfather's _death_ to convince him to take the discipline seriously. Perhaps he's found a way to manipulate his memories and pour whatever he likes out for view."

"Oh, surely not." The headmaster hiccoughed slightly. "That would take a fair bit of intelligence, Severus, and I'm certain you just implied he had none."

 _Implied?_ "I thought I was rather clear on that point," Severus corrected. "To manipulate a pensieve, as you well know, would take not so much intelligence as pure wizarding talent. Merlin knows he has _that,_ though it's beyond him to actually apply it unless he thinks it will help him play the hero."

"Perhaps your Legilimency needs honing, Severus. I can't think you've been in his mind at all, the way you speak."

Severus scowled. "Oh, I've seen enough. Notably, his conviction that he was entitled to be the apple of everyone's eye, even his cousin who was very plainly jealous of him--and intimidated, make no mistake--from an early age." Giving up on waiting, Severus sipped his brandy and sighed. _Yes, definitely Jerez. Bottled in the presence of an open cask of fino..._ "That's neither here nor there, Albus. How can we trust the pensieve after a wizard like Potter's had his hands on it?"

"Ah, but he hasn't." Albus smiled, that munificent smile he wore whenever he knew something Severus didn't, a circumstance which was appallingly frequent. "The memories, you see, come to us courtesy of one Neville Longbottom."

"Longbottom," Severus repeated in a dark tone. "A different case entirely." He glanced at the pensieve still hovering just out of reach. "Well then? Let me see it, Albus, this vaunted prophecy."

"When you've finished your brandy," the old coot pompously pronounced.

Severus scowled, but did as he was told, then yanked the pensieve to his chest and plunged his face inside.

  
  
  
  


** Friday, May 8, 1998 ---- 5:37 p.m. **

Long moments later, Severus sat back against his chair, a heavy sigh collapsing his chest. "Potter's seen this already, I take it?"

"Mmm." Albus, it appeared, had been reading a casually bound tome while Severus viewed the prophecy. Finishing one sheet of parchment, he flicked a finger to turn to the next. "He's known about it for a while longer than either of us, though. Neville wrote the entire thing out from memory, and showed him, though he misremembered the phrasing here and there. Harry corrected the transcription earlier, after he saw the prophecy for himself." With that, Albus was passing him a sheet of parchment folded into quarters.

Severus picked it up and read the poem through, his brow furrowed. "Potter corrected the wording from memory?"

"Mmm," the headmaster merely said again.

"He doesn't know what it means," Severus sighed. "Does he?"

"Mmm," came a third time.

"Albus, put that bloody book down and talk to me!"

The headmaster laid the tome on his desk and glanced up through his half-moon spectacles. "You required my attention, Severus?"

Severus twisted his lips into an expression of utter disdain as he indicated the black and purple hen-scratches on the sheet he'd been studying. "I don't care what the pensieve showed, _this_ cannot possibly be authentic. It's entirely impracticable."

"You're suggesting again that memories have been tampered with?"

"No," grated the Potions Master, "I'm suggesting that Trelawney is, as you well know, half-insane and given to all manner of ludicrous prediction, the vast majority of which never come to fruition, _especially_ as concerns Potter."

"You're intimately acquainted with all she's had to say on his account?"

Severus didn't care for the hint of suggestion that encompassed. "I'm not," he answered shortly, "but I have ears, and the students do so love to whinge on about their pathetic little lives as they make their potions. Besides, I'm sure you've noticed already that the form of this is wrong." He gave another contemptuous wave toward the parchment.

"Yes, that will have to be looked into, though I strongly suspect there's an explanation for it. Now, as to the content of the prophecy, I take it you've already deduced the charm in question?"

" _Cambiare_ _Podentes,_ " Severus announced, the words heavy in his throat. 

"I thought you might have heard of it."

Severus shrugged. "What Potions Master hasn't? I don't suppose the fact that it's more mythical than factual will deter you? No, I thought not. So, how much does Potter understand?" He thought back to the last few comments Potter had made. "On reflection, his nonsensical ramblings begin to acquire a shred of rational thought. He realises this isn't likely to be... pleasant."

"Oh, I'm quite confident you can make it pleasant," the headmaster assured him. At least his eyes weren't twinkling, though Severus still knew a strong urge to hex the man. Maybe he'd simply buy him a sweet from that joke shop the horrid Weasley boys had opened. The headmaster certainly deserved it, after the past few weeks of paying accolades to the twits by means of his passwords. 

" _That_ was distinctly not what I meant, and you know it," Severus sharply retorted, rising from his chair to warm his hands at the fire, though they weren't the least bit cold. "The whole idea is thoroughly impossible, Albus. Potter won't do it, not once he comprehends the whole."

"I think you underestimate our Harry," came the soft reply. 

"Oh, do go on," Snape mocked. "Laud him to the skies, all those charming Gryffindor traits you've inculcated with your dunderheaded lenience. Or shall I laud him for you? Famous Harry Potter, brave and noble and true, just like his perfect paragon of a father--"

"You needn't be snide, Severus," the headmaster interrupted, ostentatiously eating a few biscuits before continuing. "All you have to consider is the simple fact that he's eighteen and looking square in the face of his own death. Of course he'll do it."

"Eighteen, yes," the Potions Master snarled. "And can't even manage to act his age. He couldn't even bear to stay here and _discuss_ the matter, yet you expect him to be adult enough to sign himself over, to willingly incant _Cambiare_ _Podentes?_ And with me, no less! And then to follow through on what he's sworn to do?"

"I understand Harry a fair sight better than do you," Albus scolded. "And I can tell you that he _would_ have stayed here to discuss the matter had you acted _your_ age, Severus. From the moment you strode from the Floo, you went out of your way to insult and antagonize him. If you'd prefer Harry to conduct himself as the adult he is, I suggest you behave more like one, yourself."

"Your platitudes are singularly unimpressive," Severus snidely remarked, determined not to be manoeuvred by the wily headmaster. "Perhaps you'll be so good now as to answer the question to which I've twice alluded? How much does Mr Potter know of what this prophecy demands?"

"Ah. I gather that he and Miss Granger spoke to Professor Binns about it at length, just last night. The dear old ghost was a bit... hesitant, we'll say, with details, but he did tell Harry that once done, it was irrevocable, and that it involved the enslavement of a wizard in exchange for heightened powers."

Severus went thoughtful for a moment, remembering the look on Potter's face when he'd found him huddled with the Granger girl. So much emotion on his features; the young man should really learn to be less open. Still, that emotion, raw as it was, hadn't been anything like what Severus would have expected had Potter deduced the full truth of the situation.

As if reading his mind--which the wily Legilimens just might be doing, Severus realised--the headmaster closed the tome he'd been perusing, and held it out for him to take. Sighing, Severus left his place at the fire and took hold of it, scanning the first few pages with eyebrows raised. The dreadful handwriting was unmistakable, and a great many of the ramblings, depressingly obtuse. The overwhelming impression given by the writings, however, was that Potter had spent a great deal of time poring over the prophecy.

Instead of recognizing the maturity inherent in that, Severus sneered, "Exactly how long has the cretin known about this coming reign of doom?"

"According to my discussion with Neville," Albus calmly returned, "About four days."

"And he didn't think to bring it to your attention," Severus pointed out. "Do _not_ laud him to me again."

"Severus." The headmaster quietly waited until the Potions Master stopped fuming, then softly declared, "Harry needed time to think. In that, he's not unusual. But he _would_ have acted on the information, had Professor Binns not spoken with me, first."

"You seriously believe he would have trotted up here and announced, in between rotting his teeth with your infernal sweets, that the Dark Lord's demise required him to become my slave?"

"No," Albus admitted. "You don't know him at all. He would have thought it all over very carefully, and consulted his friends, and had Miss Granger research the matter despite her initial failure to find much of use. And when Harry had concluded that there was no more understanding to be gleaned, he would have gone to _you,_ Severus. Expecting to be flayed alive, or at the very least thrown bodily from your office, but he would have gone all the same."

"Me!"

"You _are_ obviously the other party involved. Whatever you may think of Harry, and whatever you may wish to call him--though I do wish you would at least _attempt_ to restrain your vicious sarcasm--the young man is not a fool."

"I've yet to see much evidence of that," Severus harshly put in.

"Ah. Well then perhaps we shall put some before you," the headmaster calmly returned. "What say you to a small... wager, about young Harry's next move?"

Severus froze, and regarded the headmaster with suspicious eyes. "What do you have in mind?"

"We'll let him study tonight; we'll leave him strictly alone. And then we'll see, Severus, what Harry takes it into his head to do. I maintain that in a few days, three at the outside, he'll come to you to discuss matters."

A wicked smile lifted the Potion Master's lips. "I maintain he'll ignore _matters_ until someone forces him to discuss them. Just as he pretended he couldn't hear that Basilisk in the walls, as if wilful ignorance would make it go away. Just as he sneaked off to Hogsmeade, ignoring the existence of that madman assassin everyone thought was out to murder him, as he waited until the _bloody night before a task_ to steal my Gillyweed!" 

"Ah. Well, if he wilfully ignores the issue at hand," Albus offered, "I'll arrange a way to take those fifty points from Gryffindor, myself. Though I think he will surprise you. Shall we call it a bet?"

Severus inclined his head in polite acknowledgement. "And in the unlikely event that he speaks with me, instead? I suppose you'll want a year's supply of sugar quills, or some such nonsense?"

"No, I'll want you to be civil to him, Severus."

Severus scowled, but inclined his head again. "Three days," he warned. "And after that?"

"We'll call him back up here together, and explain the charm and all its requirements."

"I can't imagine _that_ tending to be a very civil conversation."

"Regardless," Albus returned remorselessly. "I absolutely demand you be polite."

"So now I'm to be courteous, win _or_ lose?" Severus inquired, outraged.

Albus radiated his sternest expression. "Anything else is truly beneath you, Severus. The young man will be horrified enough without you deliberately adding to his discomfiture."

 _True. All too true,_ Severus thought. "Albus, as you well know, I am not what anyone could construe as... kind. And the details of this particular enchantment... I can't think that I should be the one to enlighten Mr Potter."

"It will only makes things more difficult later, if you aren't. Surely you see that?" When the Potions Master stared, stone-faced, Albus conceded, "Very well. If you absolutely must, compose a précis for him to read. Oh! That may be a problem; I understand you think him illiterate?"

Severus glared, but passed it off with a wave of his hand. "The fine art of the insult."

"Of course," the headmaster murmured. "But you'll restrain it for once, because whatever you write, he will have questions. I imagine the two of you might be talking all night."

"A charming prospect, to be sure," Severus drawled. His nostrils flaring, he reached to pick up both Potter's journal and the sheet listing the entire prophecy. "If I may? They'll be returned."

"To Harry, when he comes to you."

"Confident old codger, aren't you?"

"Of Harry? Oh, yes indeed. Absolutely." The headmaster smiled in that way he had, so he almost looked like some medieval saint with a halo of gold encircling his entire face. "Sherbet lemon, Severus?"

The Potions Master didn't deign to answer, preferring instead to tuck the parchments inside his cloak before he stalked to the fireplace and Flooed away.

  
  
  
  


** Friday, May 8, 1998 ---- 6:44 p.m. **

The Great Hall at dinner was always a noisy place except during holidays, and even then, the irritant known as Harry Potter was present. Normally, Severus reflected, when he wished to read during meals, he remained in his dungeon quarters, as he found the silence there conducive to his contemplations.

Tonight, however, he planned to read at the head table, propriety be damned. He wanted to test Potter's mettle, to let him see his hated Potions Master poring over that highly personal and private journal. He wanted to spark a reaction in the young man. Indignation. Anger, perhaps, or even a full-fledged scene.

Severus toyed with his arugula and hyacinth salad, stabbing stray leaves and petals with his fork as he read, and waited for Potter to notice. Of course, that might take a while; he was seated across from Granger again, and had her involved in some conversation that apparently required a good deal of hand waving. It looked a bit as though they were discussing Quidditch moves, though he was sure that Granger had more sense than to pay any mind to such nonsense. Interestingly enough, Severus noted, the Weasley boy--thank Merlin, the _last_ Weasley boy for a good while--was with them too, and looked for all the world as though there was nothing wrong with Harry Potter stealing his girlfriend right from under his nose. Maybe Weasley was just to dim to notice.

Potter had yet to so much as glance up at the teacher's table, which struck Severus as absolutely typical: as usual, the young man was choosing to ignore his problems until some disaster forced him into action. Just like with the Occlumency. Had Potter bothered his head to learn it when it might have mattered? No, only _after_ Black had fallen through the Veil had it dawned on the boy that his teachers might actually know a thing or two worth learning.

Disgusted, Severus glanced down at the journal and forced himself to plough through the fragmented, half-random notes that Potter had jotted down in his usual atrocious quillscript. 

> _Vanquish dark by powers crossed_ he had written, and beneath it:
> 
> _vanquish, conquer, defeat... the dark must mean Voldemort. So defeat Voldemort by powers crossed. But what are powers crossed? Is that like cross as in angry? I hope not. You have to mean the Unforgivables, and even when I really should have, I didn't. I don't think I can. Maybe it's more like crossed as in crossed out? Defeat Voldemort by crossing out my powers? That doesn't make much sense!_

Rolling his eyes in disbelief, Severus dropped his fork and took a swig of mead. A large swig. These ruminations of Potter's were absolute drivel! Severus glared over at the Gryffindor table, though nobody there seemed to notice. He supposed they were rather used to garnering dark looks from him. Potter was using his hands to eat now, instead of re-enacting the Quidditch World Cup with them, but he was still studiously ignoring the Head Table. Frowning, Severus returned to his reading. Much of it continued to be idiotic beyond belief, but he found himself occasionally raising an eyebrow at a hint of insight. Thinking to ask the ghosts about the spell, since none alive could say it... well, that deduction was almost clever, though of course, Severus added, it had taken Potter an appallingly long time to realise that what he really needed was the one ghost who was also a history expert. He continued reading and musing, at length reaching an entry that caught him completely by surprise: 

> _ Invoke the rite not just in name _
> 
> _Invoke. To start, to put into place, to call upon. And now it says this Cambiare is a rite, though before it was called a spell, which places it on at least two different axes of magic. Power folded in upon itself? No, more like synergy, along the lines of the twice-filled powers mentioned later. But then there's this part about not just in name... Not just in name, that's like the opposite of "in name only." But what does that mean? Is it like in those Muggle romances Hermione sometimes talks about, when there's a marriage in name only, which means the vows were spoken but not really meant? Or, more like not followed through on? Invoke the rite not just in name: that seems to say that the spell/rite isn't something you just incant that afterwards manages the magic on its own. You have to more than mean it, you have to participate in it, afterwards. It sounds binding, too with that only truth can evil tame, as if trying to fool the rite will somehow nullify it and end up letting Voldemort triumph. So whatever this Cambiare is, I'm going to have to really live up to it. Until there's no more Voldemort to worry about._

Severus sighed. Harry would have to _participate,_ for lack of a better word, in _Cambiare_ for far longer than the time it took to vanquish Voldemort. And so would he, unless he wanted to really deserve the titles the students gave him, epithets such as Meanest Bastard Who Ever Lived. Not that he wasn't, mind, but some things were too cruel even for him. 

Even if the victim of the cruelty would be Harry Potter.

Severus sighed yet again, and kept reading. 

> _ His life oft saved though hate did glow, _
> 
> _I knew I'd get to this line, sooner or later,_ Potter had written. _Isn't prophecy supposed to be a little more subtle? Ron had it figured out within ten seconds of seeing this bit, and I was with him for Divination -- I know he doesn't have a single bloody clue what he's doing. But neither do I, really. All right, all right. Lets start at the end, this time. Hate did glow. Well, plenty of people sure do hate me. First and foremost, Voldemort. Guess I can't claim that he's ever saved my life, though, let alone "oft." Same for Malfoy, and Malfoy's evil little spawn, and Death Eaters in general. Okay, so who else could it be, besides the obvious candidate - not ready to think about that just yet._ A long scrawling doodle of a bat indicated at that point that Harry had stopped writing to think. _Well, shite. I can't think of a single person who both hates me and has saved my life. Except one. Okay, okay, probably him, but just to be sure, let's just see about this "oft" business._
> 
> To Severus' utter shock, what followed was a neatly delineated list of events.
> 
> _\---He kept Quirrell's hex from throwing me completely off my Nimbus 2000.  
>  \---He got rid of the Serpensortia snake Malfoy threw at me during that duel. Of course as it turned out I could talk to it, my life wasn't really in any danger, but he offered to get rid of it before anybody knew I wasn't in danger, so I guess it sort of counts.  
>  \---He tried to get me into trouble for going into Hogsmeade without permission, which isn't exactly saving my life, but what if his motive wasn't so much to get me in trouble as to make sure I couldn't go sneaking off again while Sirius Black was on the loose? _
> 
> Next to that entry was a small note, written but crossed through: _I miss Sirius._ Then the list resumed.
> 
> _\---He tried to get me disqualified from the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I thought it was spite at the time, either that or the fact that he was sure I'd slipped my name past the age line. Still, what if he really just thought it was way too dangerous, which it was, and I wasn't ready for it, which I wasn't. Maybe in his own twisted sarcastic way he was trying to help when he accused me of cheating my way in?  
>  \---He did try to teach me Occlumency so that Voldemort couldn't lure me into danger. Crap, could he have been a worse teacher, though? I didn't start to get the hang of it at  all_ _until Hermione got me some decent books to explain it. Still, even if he can't teach to save his life, I suppose he was still trying to save mine. _Again, another crossed out comment: _Too bad I didn't catch on to blocking Voldemort when it might have fucking mattered.  
>  \---The night Sirius died he alerted everybody and sent them after me which is pretty much the only reason I did come home safe.  
>  \---Last year he showed up just in time to keep Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle from bashing my head into the wall. In between all the yelling and insults, he did show me a couple of good spells for keeping them from lifting my wand again._
> 
> And then, one more notation on the sheet of parchment: 
> 
> _Shite, it looks pretty much like "oft" from where I'm sitting._

Severus glanced up, all at once aware that the usual slow roar of the Great Hall had gone much quieter while he'd sat reading. At the Head Table, only Minerva and Poppy remained. His glance drifted toward the long Gryffindor table below. 

Potter was still there, though his friends had left. A few scattered students sat several places down. Other than that, the table was vacant.

Potter wasn't eating any longer, he was simply watching his professor read the journal. Severus had a suspicion that he'd been doing that for quite some while. The young man wasn't smiling, or frowning, or apparently angry that his privacy had been breached. He was simply observant, returning the Potions Master's level gaze.

And then, without a word, he scooped his books up from beside him on the bench, and left the hall.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

** Monday, May 11, 1998 ---- Morning and Afternoon **

After the weekend, the Advanced Potions class met again. Without Potter there to indulge what Severus had mentally dubbed the _Longbottom Syndrome,_ the two hour session proceeded without disaster. Miss Granger, he noticed, was much quieter than usual; she only raised her hand once in response to a question, and declined to ask any questions of her own at all. 

However, she did look as though she'd gotten enough sleep, though by then Severus had realised that her exhaustion from before probably came from chatting up ghosts past midnight, not from any more lascivious activities.

Of course he didn't consider apologizing for his misapprehension. In the first place, he didn't apologize to students, and in the second, Granger and Potter were obviously involved in any case. Normally he wouldn't have noticed their cow-eyed glances, let alone given them a second thought, but in the circumstances, an entanglement like that was bound to get awkward.

Nothing for it, though.

He'd read Potter's journal completely through twice, only by sheer force of will managing not to annotate it with comments of his own. He hadn't even corrected the occasional misspelled word, though he'd been sorely tempted to cross off that irritating "u" that Potter kept inserting in the word _among,_ persistently writing it as _amoung._ Where had he learned to write, for heaven's sake?

Once he'd finished with the journal, Severus set himself to the far more difficult task of composing the précis the headmaster had recommended. A sounder idea he'd rarely heard, though of course writing the thing was an extreme trial, especially as he was endeavouring his poor best to state everything so very _politely_. Some implications of the _Cambiare_ _ Curse, _as he had taken to thinking of it, though, could hardly be phrased in polite language. Still, he couldn't expect Potter to read the one extant text on the subject; it was written in Hindustani as well as several dead languages and had been charmed to defy not just translation spells, but laborious hand-translation as well. It was no wonder Caligula had failed to invoke _Cambiare_ properly; most likely, the egomaniacal fool hadn't even understood the implications of the rite, let alone the complex execution a spell like that required. Severus briefly wondered if the Latin texts of the time had addressed it properly, but as they had all vanished long before the fall of Wizarding Rome, there was no way to be certain.

One thing was certain, though. Caligula's rather spectacular failure had caused _Cambiare_ to fall into disuse, for so long that now, it was only mentioned at the very highest levels of study. But if one knew where to look, _and_ one was fluent in several dead languages in addition to the Hindustani, one could reconstruct everything the rite required.

Probably.

Possibly. 

Assuming, of course, that Potter could bear to go through with it at all, when he'd yet to show himself courageous enough to so much as _talk_ about it. And wasn't that amusing, considering the little brat still didn't know just how uncomfortable a talk like that was going to be?

Severus looked up from his parchment, eyes narrowed. Had there been a knocking at his door? A slight rap of knuckles?

No, it was his imagination, he decided, and bent over the précis once again.

  
  
  
  


** Monday, May 11, 1998 ---- Late Afternoon **

Three days after he'd run out of his conference with the headmaster, Harry concluded that both Dumbledore and Snape were waiting for him to come to some sort of decision about the whole _Cambiare_ mess. What else could explain their odd silence? He'd expected to be summoned back after dinner that same night, especially after Snape had spent the meal alternately reading that journal and staring straight at Harry as though in challenge. At first, Harry had pretended not to notice Snape's behaviour, but after his friends had left, that game got old, so he'd stared right back.

 _Ten points from Gryffindor,_ he'd expected his teacher to announce. Merlin only knew, the Potions Master had taken points before for Harry's staring at him.

Not this time, though. 

A bit bemused, Harry had collected his books and gone to study. Potions, first, because he was feeling in a vicious mood. Nothing he read made sense, though, so he eventually switched to Defence, writing out the required fifteen inches on how the fight-or-flight response common to all sentient life affected wizards under attack.

With almost every word he scrawled across the parchment, he expected an owl to come soaring in, or possibly Fawkes, or at least for Madam Pince to quietly inform him that he was needed elsewhere. He studied until curfew sent him back to the Tower, and told himself on the long walk back that they were waiting until the morning to talk to him. He could just see Dumbledore recommending to Snape that they all have a good night's sleep before they tackled the thorny issue of _Cambiare_ again.

Harry didn't get that good night's sleep, but at least it wasn't because he was plagued with nightmares, as still happened all too frequently. No, this was simpler. He lay awake, his mind circling the issue of the prophecy over and over until he thought it would drive him mad.

The next morning he almost fell asleep over his porridge, but somehow made it through the day. Again, no summons. Snape didn't appear for meals to taunt him with that journal, though. That had to be worth something. And while he hadn't slept well in the nights since, he had gotten some shut-eye. In between nightmares. Strangely, ones he couldn't remember. That hardly ever happened.

When three days had passed in a blur of expecting an owl to soar in at any moment, Harry finally realised that it was up to him to do something about the prophecy. Bit irritating, really, to have it all just dumped on him to figure out. He _was_ just eighteen, as he'd said. How should he know what he was supposed to do, in a situation like this?

There was only one real question for him to consider, though, and he knew it. Did he want to defeat Voldemort? Did he want to, or not? Simple as that. If he wanted to, he knew what he had to do. Well, more or less.

  
  
  
  


** Monday, May 11, 1998 ---- 7:14 p.m. **

It wasn't often that students waited for Severus outside his private quarters; even his Slytherins knew that if they had something to discuss, it was best done in the office adjoining his classroom. Harry Potter, though, never had been one for following rules, or even social norms if his eating habits were anything to judge by. It was as if he'd never heard there was a difference between sleeves and napkins, or perhaps as though he'd never heard of napkins, full stop.

At least the dratted young man was studying while he waited. Potions, too, judging from the text. Severus knew an instant's relief at that. In retrospect, he _had_ overreacted to Potter's inane reply in class, for having had him as a student for nearly seven straight years, he knew the young man wasn't quite as stupid as all that. Potter had been angling for a reaction, and he'd gotten one. Quite why he'd wanted to precipitate that reaction was another issue, but given the timing, Severus couldn't help but suspect that it had a great deal to do with what Binns had told the young man of _Cambiare._

But if he really was studying Potions on his own? Well, perhaps it would all work out all right. Severus certainly couldn't deny that it was a relief not to have Potter in class. 

For a moment, Severus idly wondered if it might have been a Potions question, actually, that had driven the student down here, but when he approached and Potter looked up, the expression in his eyes said that his mind wasn't on his studies.

 _Polite,_ Severus reminded himself, though after all the work he'd done rewording the précis to be just that, the word rather grated on his nerves. It had been a profound relief when he'd finally finished revising it, and had chanted a quillspell to write a final version out in carefully anonymous script. 

"Mr. Potter," he greeted the young man, his tone deliberately neutral.

The young man pushed himself to stand, and replied in kind. "Professor." For a moment, Potter just stared at him, his expression almost blank, only the suffering green of his eyes indicating his unease to be there. And then, with a small sigh, the young man was adding, "I'd like to speak with you, sir. Could we go to your office?"

 _Not quite without all the social niceties, after all, then,_ Severus thought, though what came out his mouth was a rather impatient, "I've just come from there, Mr Potter. Perhaps you'll be so good as to explain why you didn't present yourself at my office in the first place? During office _hours,_ perhaps?"

The young man shrugged. "You weren't there when I stopped by, so I came down here to wait."

Since Severus had been marking papers in his office for the past several hours, Potter's claim struck him as a bit absurd. He didn't believe for an instant that the young man had been sitting on the cold stone dungeon floor for all that time. In the interests of civility, however, he didn't challenge the statement. "Oh, just come in," he muttered, waving his wand at his door and mouthing but not pronouncing the spells that would permit him entry. "Well?" he prompted, when Potter failed to follow.

The student wandered forward then, his gaze swinging from side to side as though whatever he had expected to see, this wasn't it. Severus didn't doubt for an instant what Potter had expected: a greasy, soot-stained little cell devoid of amenities. A habitation suitable for a bat, not elegant rooms draped in tapestries and furnished with antiques. Certainly, he hadn't expected to be looking out enchanted windows that showed a starry night out over the loch.

"Do sit down, Potter," Snape growled, yanking out a hard backed chair for himself and waving sarcastically toward a dark green velvet settee. He noticed with irritation that the Gryffindor hadn't even bothered to close the door behind him, but one quick wave of his wand took care of that. "So, you wished to speak to me?"

He saw Potter's throat distend as he swallowed. "Yes, sir. About the prophecy."

 _Damn that Albus,_ Severus thought. _How did he know the young man would show up here?_ Well, there was nothing for it now, but to deal with the entire matter as matter-of-factly as possible, though Severus had no doubt that it wouldn't be long before Potter started ranting and raving about injustice and other Gryffindor rot.

Or... perhaps not, because as far as Severus was concerned, the prophecy itself was still in a considerable amount of doubt.

"Yes, the prophecy," Severus acknowledged, leaning back in his chair and elegantly crossing his long legs, one knee over another. " _Cambiare Podentes,_ of all things. Rather startling.I believe Professor Binns gave you a vague idea as to its function?"

"Uh..." Potter cleared his throat, clearly nervous.

"I know he did," Severus interrupted in a calm tone. "But let's consider the prophecy itself, first. There is a problem with it. You had Divination for three years, is that correct? Didn't you deduce the conflict yourself?"

Potter stared at him with widening eyes, more than a little hope strewn in them, but no real understanding. "Conflict?" he echoed, shaking his head.

"Trelawney didn't use a crystal ball, or tea leaves, or any of the other claptrap accessories she clutters her classroom with," Severus hinted. "It was a channelled prophecy, Potter. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

The young man blinked several times. "Um, no, not really."

"The form is wrong, and the headmaster knows it," Severus impatiently explained. Really, the young man should have picked up on the problem on his own, but considering that he'd had Trelawney for an instructor, perhaps his ignorance could be overlooked. "Sibyll's powers emanate from Cassandra Trelawney, Potter, and were passed down to her through well-understood patterns that hold true within a bloodline. Cassandra used to deliver channelled prophecies as well, every third one of which was given as a poem using this particular rhyme and rhythm scheme."

"Uh-huh," Potter mumbled. Severus didn't particularly consider that definitive proof that the young man had followed the argument, but at least he was attempting to pay attention. It was more than he sometimes bothered to do in class.

" _Cambiare Podentes_ is such a bizarre requirement for you and I to undertake," Severus continued, "that it occurred to me straight off to wonder if the prophecy wasn't some sort of prank."

Potter certainly followed _that_ implication without difficulty. "Neville wouldn't do a thing like that!"

"Longbottom is not capable of perpetrating a hoax of this magnitude," Severus agreed. "There aren't many wizards cognizant of _Cambiare Podentes,_ let alone able to duplicate the intricacies of the Trelawney seerstyle. No... someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to hatch this particular plot."

"But..." Potter, Severus noted, was chewing on his lower lip.

"What?" Still, the young man said nothing. "Spit it out!" Severus roared, out of patience.

"Well, what makes you think it is one? A hoax, I mean. You said yourself that the form, er, the seerstyle, is exactly what it should be for Trelawney."

"Haven't you realised that those ears of yours are for listening, not just a place to hang your owlish glasses?" Severus inquired. "Every _third_ channelled prophecy of Trelawney's must be given in the seerstyle, I said. And this is but her second, ever. A less than illustrious career, to be sure, but there you have it."

Severus sat back with a satisfied smirk, expecting Potter's expression to change to relief. He found himself puzzled when it just remained... wary, actually. 

The young man's chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath. "This prophecy _is_ her third, Professor. I wish it wasn't. Er... I'm sure you must know that. But it is. Her third, I mean. And so.... I think we have to heed it."

"Third prophecy," Severus repeated, aghast. "Whatever are you babbling about now?"

Potter clenched his eyes shut, a look of physical pain contorting his features, his scar actually twisting behind his messy bangs as he clenched his eyes. "She gave me a prophecy, once; _that_ one was her second. Not that I knew that at the time, but I know it now. Anyway, it came true, so it was definitely the real thing, unlike most of what spews from her mouth. Um.... do you want to hear it?"

"No, I'd prefer to take your word for it," Severus drawled. "Of course I want to hear it, you nitwit!"

Potter glared, his eyes narrowed to green slits. "I meant, _sir,_ did you want to hear it from me, or would you prefer to view it in a pensieve? Given that I'm such a stupid twit, perhaps we shouldn't rely on my nearly non-existent powers of recall?"

"Stop quoting me and start quoting her," Severus retorted.

"Fine." Potter closed his eyes, and recited the words that were burned into his brain. Not so much from Trelawney, but from the way they haunted his dreams. It was from missing Sirius, he supposed. If only he'd understood the prophecy properly to begin with, he might have found a way to exonerate his godfather, rather than merely free him. Of course, that was a bit farfetched; at the time he hadn't understood that exoneration was even in order. But still, he often dreamed of hearing his barmy Divination teacher reciting those fateful words, just like he dreamed of the rest of his long list of failures. Cedric. Helping Voldemort rise. The veil. 

"The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless," Harry chanted, his eyes closed. "Abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight, the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his Master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight, before midnight, the servant will set out to rejoin his Master."

Severus slumped slightly in his chair. "And you heard Sibyll say all this when, Potter?"

"The very day Peter Pettigrew returned to serve Voldemort."

"Do _not_ say the Dark Lord's name!" Anger surging through him, Severus scowled. "You heard a prophecy like _that_ , and didn't think to alert anyone? Brilliant, Potter!"

"In the first place, I was thirteen and didn't have a bloody clue what it meant, _sir._ It was only afterwards that I put it all together. In the second place, since nobody had bothered to tell me that the woman _ever_ made true predictions, I didn't think it would look so great for me to run off to the Headmaster, claiming _after_ the fact that she was this amazing seer or something. Sure as I'm sitting here, you'd have accused me of making the whole thing up just to get some attention. Like I _want_ attention for creepy things like being a Parselmouth and having batty old ladies froth at the mouth to me over Voldemort!"

Severus' voice sank to a low, dangerous tone. "I am serious, Potter. _Do not say that name!_ "

The young man just sighed as though weary of the old argument.

"And in the third place?" Severus inquired. 

A frown wrinkled Potter's brow, then cleared. "I guess there're just two places. So, um... where does that leave us, then? The prophecy's true, you figure?"

"I _figure_ it probably is," Severus growled, contempt lacing his imitation of Potter's speech. "I will communicate as much to the headmaster. He knew that the form appeared to be wrong, too, but insisted there would be an explanation." A deep breath. "As indeed there is."

"Well, how about explaining _Cambiare_ to me, then?" Potter pressed, although his face had gone alarmingly white. Damned Gryffindor courage. Severus found himself admiring it despite himself, which of course only made him resent Potter all the more. 

"Um, Binns said it involved... um, enslavement?" Harry pressed.

"It doesn't _involve_ enslavement," Severus corrected. "It is the very _essence_ of enslavement." He paused a moment, trying to think how best to explain. "Tell me, Mr Potter, when you hear that word, what associations come to mind?"

Harry looked away. "Um... I don't really know."

"Oh, come now," Severus rebuked. "You've pondered the question. A great deal, I dare say. So..." His eyes narrowed as he leaned forward. "When you think of having to be my slave, Mr Potter, what images spring forth in your adolescent mind?"

"I don't know!" Potter exclaimed. "Um, stupid stuff! Polishing your boots or something! Re-lining your cauldrons?"

"Merlin as my witness, I would not let you _near_ my cauldrons," Severus snapped. Good gods, was the young man simple, or did he just lack imagination? "And as for polishing my boots, Potter? What have you been reading instead of your textbooks, the gothic romances I routinely confiscate from those silly Hufflepuff girls?"

"I told you I didn't know!" Potter inhaled, waited a while as though doing some sort of mental countdown, then let out his breath. "Why don't you tell me what it's all about, then, _sir?_ "

"Fine," Severus agreed, wanting the explanations over and done with. The précis would help accomplish that, though no doubt the young man would have questions, afterwards. _I imagine the two of you might be talking all night,_ he remembered Albus predicting. 

_Not bloody likely,_ thought Severus. "Take this back to your dormitory and read it," he briskly directed, handing Harry a small bundle of folded parchment. "The sheets are spelled to display information only in your immediate presence. A precaution, as the contents are sensitive."

Potter stared down at it and chewed his lip. Hideous habit.

"Go read it now," Severus clarified, since the young man still hadn't moved. "After you understand the content, you may return. You may wish to have the headmaster present. If so, bring him along."

And _still_ the young man didn't get up to leave. "Well?" Severus prompted.

Potter looked straight at him, his green eyes alert. "Something's up. You're acting awfully funny."

"Define _funny,_ " Severus sneered. "Or better yet, inform the headmaster I was acting strangely. Yes, do that, Potter. There's a matter of a wager involved."

At least that comment made the young man stand up. Now his eyes were blazing. "What wager?"

"You didn't think I was being _polite_ because I _liked_ you, did you?" Severus snarled. That got the young man headed toward the door. Finally.

"I'm going to tell Dumbledore you were a complete _arse,_ " Potter retorted, and slammed the heavy dungeon door.


	7. Chapter 7

 

 

** Monday, May 11, 1998 ---- 8:53 p.m. **

Harry sat on one of the staircases in Gryffindor Tower and leaned against the railings as it began another spin. He'd run all the way from the dungeons, and was still breathing hard, not so much with exertion as fury. How _dare_ Dumbledore and Snape turn his life into some sort of bet? Having Sibyll Trelawney spouting prophecies about his future was bad enough, without so-called responsible adults turning it into some sort of game for their own sick amusement. 

For a while there, down in the dungeons, Snape had been fairly well-mannered. Almost... sensitive, in the way he approached the questions Harry had about the prophecy. But the whole thing had been a front. A façade.

He should have known, Harry thought. After all, that façade had cracked from time to time during their discussion. Really, Snape could only maintain a polite attitude for about two minutes at a time, even _if_ there was some wager brewing. For a moment, Harry idly wondered over the terms. What would Snape want?

Well, that was easy enough to deduce. He'd been told point blank he couldn't take any more points from Harry, hadn't he? _Yep,_ Harry thought. _Points. Dumbledore would be manipulative enough to dangle that incentive right in Snape's face._ He could just see the conversation, now. _Be nice to him this once, Severus, and I'll let you take points off him, again._

But Snape hadn't been nice. Still, when Harry was honest, he had to admit that the Potions Master could have been a hell of a lot nastier. That didn't mean he was willing to let him have points off Gryffindor, of course.

All right, enough wool-gathering, Harry decided. Time to read this information Snape had given him. Sighing, Harry unfolded the sheets and began to examine the topmost one. The first thing he noticed was that everything was written in a perfectly uniform script that bore no resemblance to Snape's habitual scrawl. The second thing he noticed was that the document was a lot longer than he'd expected.

> > _Cambiare_ _Podentes  
> _ (loosely translated: Power Exchange)
>> 
>> Summary of History, Use, and Effects
>> 
>> _Cambiare_ _Podentes_ is a complex blend of various magics. When done properly, it is said to grant one wizard the twice-filled powers of another. Twice-filled, in this regard, does not mean the same as merely doubled. The term uses filled in the mathematical sense; a filled set of numbers is one that is complete, or more precisely, perfect. Twice-filled implies a squaring of every element of the set, which would yield an exponential increase in magical power. One of the mysteries of _Podentes_ is that it was described this way by ancient wizards long before Muggles developed number-set theory. In a certain sense, _Cambiare_ _Podentes_ wraps time around itself.
>> 
>> _Podentes_ is most often referred to as a spell or rite, as you observed in your journal. You thought the dual language indicated more than one axis of magic to sustain it. This is correct, though incomplete. Properly speaking, _Podentes_ is all of these combined into one: spell, rite, curse, hex, charm, potion, and magical contract. The fact that _Podentes_ encompasses, or more precisely, bridges all these axes is what renders it able to increase magic exponentially. However, to channel the power inherent in _Podentes_ , certain specific requirements must be met. 
>> 
>> Before I explain that in detail, I should like to point out that up until now in your school career, you have only studied certain kinds of magic. No doubt this has not been brought to your attention, but all wand magic is Air Magic; when you wave your wand, you are controlling the flow of magic in the air and causing it to conform to your wishes. There are other kinds of magic, however. You have touched on Earth Magic in Herbology and Potions. The curriculum at Hogwarts has not introduced you (nor will it) to Water Magic, Fire Magic, or Sex Magic. _Podentes_ incorporates all of these to a greater or lesser degree.
>> 
>> All that is currently known of _Podentes_ comes from a thousand-year-old Hindustani text. The text itself references far older sources, and in their original languages. Only a linguist of considerable skill can reconstruct the spell, which is one reason it is hardly ever invoked. (Most wizards have never even heard of it). Another difficulty lies in the rite itself. As the prophecy told you, _Podentes_ must be initiated by someone no longer living. Normally, this places upon the parties the obligation of raising the dead (a function of Fire Magic). However, we should have no issue with that. 
>> 
>> Another reason wizards have avoided grasping after the vast power that is _Podentes_ involves the history of the spell. Although it was believed to have been used successfully several times in the millennia before the rise of Rome, the last recorded use of it was during the reign of Gaius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. Also known as the emperor Caligula, he was born a wizard and possessed magical powers up until at least the age of twelve, when it appears that insanity destroyed his native talent. He tried in various ways to regain his powers, finally attempting to invoke _Podentes_. The texts he used are no longer extant, so it is not known why his effort failed, or indeed, to whom he intended to enslave himself in this bid for power. Most sources suspect his partner in the enterprise was his sister Drusilla, whom he had married in preparation for invoking _Podentes_. What is known of this attempt is that it did not restore any of his powers, and moreover, turned him into a human monster capable of the most horrendous depravities. That need not concern us in detail, though if you truly wish to know, you may consult the appropriate Muggle historical records, notably _The Annals of Imperial Rome_ by Tacitus or _The Twelve Caesars_ by Suetonius. 
>> 
>> In the years after Caligula's death (shortly after he invoked _Podentes_ ), Roman wizards came to regard the rite as cursed. When in fact it came to light that Claudius Nero Caesar also wished to invoke it (though he was no wizard at all), terror swept through wizarding Rome. Caligula's attempt had destroyed primarily himself and his family; it was thought that a second failure would destroy Rome itself. Ironically, the burning of scrolls associated with _Podentes_ lit a large section of the city on fire. Whole districts burned to the ground.
>> 
>> This, in turn, only made _Podentes_ seem all the more something to be erased from the annals of magical lore. However, references to it survived in the eastern half of the empire and were at length compiled into the Hindustani text mentioned earlier. (The original name of the spell has been lost; the surviving reference refers to it by the Latin name, which has itself been corrupted by repeated transliteration into various languages.)
>> 
>> It is clear from the Hindustani text that the rite was originally conceived and used _not_ as a way to produce an undefeatable weapon (i.e. a wizard who could not be vanquished except by his master; more on that later). Rather, the intent of _Podentes_ from earliest times was help a _very weak wizard_ gain enough power that he could not be preyed upon by his magical superiors. The contemporary culture accepted slavery as a matter of course (though there was always a certain prejudice against wizards enslaving non-magical creatures, who, after all, are not terribly useful). This acceptance likely explains why the power exchange was posited in terms of enslavement. _Podentes_ created a situation where the weak wizard could, so to speak, choose his own master. Obviously he was still enslaved, but with _Podentes_ he could be bound to a wizard he knew to be kindly disposed towards him. In fact, the successful use of _Podentes_ (leaving out speculations about Caligula) appears to have been restricted to situations where the two wizards were in love, the stronger one agreeing to the enslavement out of altruistic motives: i.e., because it created such a powerful protection for his lover.
>> 
>> Now, as to our case: no one could describe you as a weak wizard. This has some rather important implications. In historical times, the twice-filled powers were based on magical abilities that were frail to begin with. It is likely that an exponential increase resulted in a wizard with merely respectable levels of magic (i.e., it made him strong enough to fend off those who would enslave him against his will). Your twice-filled powers, in contrast, may well be something the likes of which the Wizarding world has never seen. This explains the prophecy's insistence that _Podentes_ can enable you to defeat the Dark Lord. Unfortunately, afterwards you will almost certainly be regarded with an extreme amount of fear and suspicion. The public will realise that I alone can rein you in (more on that later), and that you have the potential to become dangerous in ways that make the Dark Lord's atrocities pale.
>> 
>> So you see, _Podentes_ for you is somewhat similar to the proverbial two-edged sword. You will be able to finally destroy what you hate, but in so doing, you will become what you hate, at least in the eyes of all who watch. Observe: I am _not_ saying that you will become the next Dark Lord; I would not permit that to happen. But you will most emphatically be considered in that light by all living wizards, with the possible exception of your very closest friends. I emphasize _possible_ exception. 
>> 
>> Now, as to the spell itself. Its demands fall into two broad categories: invoking it, and maturing it. I will deal with each of these in turn, and then I will outline the consequences of the spell. 
>> 
>> Invoking _Podentes_ _  
> _What I provide you here is merely a summary of the invocation rite, which is highly complex. _  
> _ In the presence of two living witnesses, one for each party, the following rites and spells must be performed:  
>  \--The dead must be raised, or in our case, convinced to cooperate. _  
> \--_ Ghost(s) initiate the spell with incantations.  
>  \--The supplicant (that refers to you) drinks a Potion. This has mild hallucinogenic effects, but you will still know what you are doing. It will not take away your will; you will have to complete the entire rite out of desire to have it done. It will, however, prepare your physical body to be bound over into my care.  
>  \--The supplicant swears himself into servitude to another wizard, delivering his mind, spirit, soul, efforts, possessions, will, and body in the process. The form of this incantation is quite complex and must be rendered perfectly. This is said to be quite difficult due to the hallucinogenic effects of the Potion, so I strongly recommend you practice well in advance. In essence, the supplicant expresses his fervent desire to become the complete and entire property of the master wizard (that refers to me). As part and parcel of this oath, the supplicant agrees that henceforth, he will engage in sexual activity exclusively with the master wizard and will be at all times available for his use.  
>  \--Having sworn the oath, the supplicant then ceremonially yields up any and all bloodline assets, as well as any other magical property that remains in his possession at the time of the invocation. (Property that is not bloodline-linked may be distributed prior to the rite to whomever the supplicant wishes; all non-magical property must be distributed or destroyed before the rite commences.) Along with yielding property, the supplicant verbally forswears all present and future personal rights and freedoms granted under Muggle and Wizarding laws.   
>  \--The master wizard accepts said servitude (again, this requires a complex incantation) and then takes the supplicant into service:  
>  \------by demanding some personal task be performed.   
>  \------by receiving all property.  
>  \------by permanently marking the supplicant as his and none other's.  
>  \------by inflicting pain and then pleasure on the supplicant, who must be able to perceive both at the master wizard's hand.  
>  \--The master wizard spills the supplicant's blood into a potion and drinks it.  
>  \--The supplicant signs a binding magical contract. This is not written advance; it materializes on its own as the master wizard consumes the potion. It is possible that the contract will appear in an ancient language. However, I consider it more likely it will be drawn from my mind and therefore be written in English. Regardless, you are not allowed to negotiate terms. You must sign it as written on my command. Please note: I do not sign anything. _Podentes_ itself posits an unequal relationship. If you have signed the contract with the _true intention_ of abiding henceforth as my slave, magical bonds will appear to symbolize your submission. It will not be possible to remove these until after all invocation rites have been performed in full. Note: From the moment you sign yourself over to me, until the moment when the witnesses depart, you must remain in total silence.  
>  \--A ritual meal is served. The witnesses must remain until all food prepared for the invocation has been consumed. After that, they may remain or leave at the master wizard's discretion.  
>  \--A ritual bath, complete with its own customs and ceremonies, follows the meal.  
>  \--To fully complete the invocation, the supplicant must sleep the night through in the master wizard's arms. 
>> 
>> Note: the witnesses must, at their earliest possible convenience, disclose the supplicant's loss of personhood to whatever Wizarding authority compiles records of birth, marriages, and deaths. The terms of the contract need not be made public, but your change of status to property must be duly recorded. Otherwise, you will be considered to be less than sincere, and the spell will fail to produce the results desired. No doubt the Minister of Magic will have something strong to say about the matter of your irrevocable enslavement. However, this magic predates the Ministry and cannot be annulled by anything they choose to do. 
>> 
>> The ritual summarized above will create a condition in which it is _possible_ to for you to achieve the full power of _Podentes_ _._ It will not, in and of itself, grant you those twice-filled powers mentioned earlier. Power exchange means just that. Until you begin to live and breathe as my slave, until you truly relinquish to me all that you promised during the invocation, none of my power will become accessible to your use. The more your enslavement deepens (i.e., the more fully you accept my power _over_ you), the more you will find yourself able to reach into my powers for your use. 
>> 
>> Maturing _Podentes_ to Full Strength _  
> _The basic principal from which the power exchange flows is that the supplicant binds himself into irrevocable slavery to the master wizard. The nature of that slavery has implications for the power exchange itself. The more you yield yourself to meet _my needs and desires_ , the more the exchange will occur. This means, quite obviously, that you must do anything I say. But it goes far beyond that.
>> 
>> Among the most basic of all human needs is the realm of sexuality. Yes, you read that correctly. I mentioned Sex Magic at the beginning for a reason. The invocation of the spell foreshadows the sexual acts required to sustain it. You did notice that, I trust. Inflicting pain and then pleasure? Sharing bodily fluids? Ritual shared bathing?
>> 
>> Suffice it to say that _Podentes_ does not accomplish anything for the supplicant without this element of sexual servitude. By taking into yourself my own essence (need I be literal?), you will be renewing the invocation of the spell. This not only sustains the potential for the power exchange, it augments the level to which my powers can be manipulated by your hand. I understand that you must find the entire idea distasteful. However, you must understand that _Podentes_ requires an enslavement not just of your mind and will, but of your body. _Podentes_ is old magic, and the ancients understood things we've since decided to disregard. I speak here of Sex Magic, which is as real and potent as the Air Magic to which you are so much more accustomed. Once the spell is invoked, you will be bound to me _in a sexual sense_ , my property, for my use. This is the "ancient way" referenced in the prophecy.
>> 
>> There are other requirements for strengthening the spell, though in my readings, the sexual element is far and away the most significant. However, obedience also plays a major factor. The power exchange requires that your will be bent to mine. The rite itself grants the master wizard a means of enforcing obedience (other than the obvious): a spell invoked with _Compulsio._ This spell (and it is a spell, not a curse) does not turn you into a mindless drone as does the _Imperius_ curse. You will still remember your thoughts and true desires if I place you under _Compulsio_ ; but you will be compelled to obey me, nonetheless. The use of the spell _is supposed to be for adjustment purposes only_. It posits a situation in which the supplicant is unable to obey, perhaps because of fear. We both know you're no coward, so I don't expect to have to use it, is that clear? At any rate, its use should be avoided because it weakens the power exchange. 
>> 
>> There is an additional rationale why Sex Magic must be so much a part of this particular _Podentes_ exchange; I will discuss the matter with you before we take any further steps to fulfil this prophecy. 
>> 
>> Consequences of _Podentes_
>> 
>> These are several and extremely serious in nature.
>> 
>> _\--_ It will become possible for me to compel you through _Compulsio,_ (which is not an Unforgivable and technically not an assault either, since during the invocation of the spell, you will give me unrestricted consent to use it).   
>  \--No matter how much (or little) your magical abilities merge with mine, you will find yourself inherently unable to attack me with magic, or indeed, perform any magic you know I would not want you do to. In short, you will have access to my powers, but I will maintain control of mine _and yours_.  
>  \--Similarly, as master wizard I will be able to withhold magic from you at my whim. The means not only that I can block the power exchange, but also that I will be able to render you completely without magic of your own, should I wish.   
>  \--You will be placed in a position of utter dependence upon me. You will have no money and no means of support other than what I choose to give you. You will live under my roof, eat at my table, wear what I purchase, and do my bidding, whatever it may be. The magically binding contract will prevent you from obtaining independent employment as your job henceforth will be exclusively to please me.  
>  \--There will be no limits as to my behaviour towards you. At my discretion, I can elect to deny you even basic necessities, and you will have no recourse. I will be within my rights to punish you in any way I desire, including killing you. Furthermore, I would be protected from prosecution as you will have accepted for yourself the irrevocable status of chattel rather than person. Abuse of this type does not appear to be common at all within the historical use of the rite, but neither is it precluded by any magical means. In short, you will be entirely at my mercy.  
>  \--Since _Podentes_ was originally conceived as a means of protection for a weaker wizard, it includes provisions that tend toward issues of security. No doubt these were intended for use in the interregnum between invocation and full crossing of powers, but it appears that these safety provisions may persist indefinitely. To explain: we will develop a limited mind-bond which will allow you to call for me, presumably if you are in danger. Once you initiate such a call, I will be able to track your location. There may be other aspects to the mind-bond; the literature is unclear.  
>  \--You will not be able to leave your _Podentes_ enslavement under any circumstances. Consequences for disregarding a magically binding contract are typically severe, as the contract conspires to enforce itself. At a minimum, you will find yourself stripped of powers until such time as you live up to your sworn word. You will continue to be magically prevented from earning any sort of living. I do not know what else might result, but the entire purpose of _Podentes_ is to arrange a binding for life. If you afterwards resist that bond, the results could be quite dire.  
>  \--There do not _appear_ to be magical consequences for, shall we say, short-term disobedience to the master wizard, other than the obvious one: opposing your will to mine will decimate the power exchange. However, I could not guarantee that would be no further repercussions. Ancient sources imply that this arrangement, in practice, was used primarily by parties who had already formed a love-bond in which the master wizard was naturally dominant. In that context, any minor rebellion would have been dealt with by the master wizard directly (i.e. through punishment at his discretion). Before you conclude that this has no bearing on our own situation, carefully consider the following:   
>  \-- There is no way to predict how I may react to the influence of the _Podentes_ spell. Sex Magic contains inherently Dark elements. As you are likely aware, repeated casting of _Cruciatus_ can create a cycle in which the caster eventually enjoys causing pain and cannot imagine _not_ enjoying it. Similarly, living within the constraints of _Podentes_ , especially without the balancing influence of any love, may well engender in the master wizard a compulsion to exercise the authority he has been given. The invocation rite, the spell, and the contract all encourage the master wizard to think of the supplicant as his property. In fact, this attitude is necessary if the power exchange is to function. It is not inconceivable that rebellion, therefore, might find itself punished, not magically by the contract itself, but physically or emotionally, by the master wizard. I emphasize: love would mute this likelihood, which is almost certainly why the historical records, sparse as they are, reflect no such abuse.  
>  \--It is to be hoped that _if_ I develop dominant tendencies toward you, you would develop corresponding submissive tendencies toward me, because anything else would be highly perilous not just for you, but also for the crossing of powers. However, if the spell itself does not serve to help you accept your situation, two courses of action may be of assistance. Note that these strategies are not mutually exclusive:   
>  \---------Both before and after the spell is invoked, you and I strive to establish a less rancorous relationship;  
>  \---------Again, both before and after the spell is invoked, you take especial care to obey me. I do not imagine this will be simple for you, so it is important that you begin at once to cultivate an attitude of submission. It is not realistic to think that you will be able to develop one at the invocation if you have not practiced beforehand.  
>  \--In the interests of attaining fully crossed powers, and not incidentally, of shielding you from death on July 31st, it is also noted that anything we can do to become physically comfortable with each other is to be encouraged. _Podentes_ is not about you being forcibly taken. It assumes a full-fledged sexual relationship, and the nature of the spell requires mental, spiritual, and physical _consent_ on your part. If you resist intimacy with me on any of these levels, you fight the spell and prevent my powers from crossing into you, which is the point of the entire exercise. In addition, any resistance on your part could conceivably lead to unfortunate consequences (see entire paragraph above). _Therefore,_ to further the spell and to provide you a measure of protection, we should begin immediately to prepare for the sexual relationship we will need to have in place before your birthday.
>> 
>> Come talk to me when you are ready.

By the time Harry finished reading all that, he no longer cared that Snape and Dumbledore had been making bets about his life.

Really, there was only one question left: What life?

  
  
  
  


** Monday, May 11, 1998 ---- 11:22 p.m. **

The first time Harry read the summary, his mouth had been hanging open almost the whole time. Before he'd finished the first sheet of parchment, he'd stopped noticing the staircase beneath him moving.

The second time Harry read it, he was safely ensconced in his bed in Gryffindor Tower, the curtains closed around him and warded for sound. Not that he was making much, but he didn't even want bitter laughter to escape and alert his year-mates that something was up. Not that the spells would keep sound from Ron... Harry sighed. It was good to have friends who cared so much about him, but it was inconvenient, too. Ron could hear him no matter _what_ spells Harry cast -- Ron and Hermione had seen to that, a while back. Now, Harry wished they hadn't, he really did. He didn't want anybody to know what _Cambiare_ _Podentes_ was all about. 

Of course, his friends would figure everything out soon enough; Harry knew that much. The vague outline of the prophecy was already known, though at least it was only the seventh year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws who had heard of it. That was bad enough, but now to find out that his enslavement would have to be publicly acknowledged? The existence, but not the terms. Well, that was something, at least. His friends would know that he was a slave, and it probably wouldn't be too hard for them to figure out he was _Snape's_ slave, considering he'd shown them the full prophecy, but they wouldn't have to know the rest.

Harry shoved the parchments beneath his pillow, and curled up tightly, trying to sleep, but it was no use. No use at all. Eventually, he gave it up, and got his wand back out, and whispered _Lumos_ again. This time, when he read about _Podentes_ _,_ he had another sheet of parchment handy. 

He wrote down all his questions, and when he was ready, he drafted them into a letter.

Then he lay down to sleep again, pulling his pillow in tight, remembering this time to clear his mind, difficult as that was. 

He had a nightmare anyway. Just a nightmare, though, not a vision from Voldemort. He woke up screaming, drenched in sweat, flinching from shadows as his gaze wildly darted around the room. 

"You okay there, mate?" Ron's sleepy voice drifted across the room. 

"Uh, yeah," Harry croaked out a whisper. "You know me. Just dreaming."

He sort of expected Ron to roll over and go right back to sleep, but instead his friend seemed to get more alert. Maybe it was Harry's dismissive phrasing, which Ron would know wasn't too accurate. He saw shadows shifting and heard Ron sit up in bed.

"Been a while, though, hasn't it? Your scar okay?"

"Uh-huh..." Harry sat up too, and nodded his head, pushing aside his bed curtains to see that Ron had done the same. "It's not that. It's just me, you know. Memories... the cemetery. You know, the one where Cedric died."

"Shite Harry, that's awful. And it was three years ago. You have to let it go... there was nothing you could have done to save him. Everybody knows that."

"Yeah, nothing I could have done," Harry echoed, but it seemed like he was forgetting something. The dream hadn't really been about Cedric so much, had it? Hadn't it really been all about Harry? His head hurt now, and he couldn't exactly remember. "Thanks, Ron. I'm going to try to sleep again, now."

"Sure, Harry," Ron mumbled, and fell back down to his own mattress.

Harry pulled his curtains closed and cast another quick _Silencio_ across them before he lay back down, though he knew that wouldn't keep Ron from hearing him if he had another dream again. 

Oh God, what if he dreamed about the slavery ritual he was going to have to undergo? What if he dreamed about sex with.... _Snape,_ and said something he shouldn't?

Harry balled his hand into a fist and punched his pillow. Sometimes, he wished his friends could care about him just a little bit less.

[Keep Reading.](http://www.livejournal.com/users/jordangrant/xxxx.html)


	8. Chapter 8

** Tuesday, May 12, 1998 ---- 8:00 a.m. **

Severus had little expression on his face when the owl dropped a missive for him at the Head Table the next morning, but when he opened it and saw both his name and the young man's, he couldn't help but scowl. Didn't Potter have the slightest smidgen of sense in the space between his ears? Hadn't he even _noticed_ that the précis had avoided any use of names?

He looked up and glared, hoping that would get his point across. It didn't; the young man wasn't even looking his way. Well, that was better than the alternative, Severus supposed. He didn't relish having Harry Potter staring at him, and not just because it might put him off his food. It was also dangerous. Already, vague rumours of the prophecy were circulating the houses of Hogwarts. Fortunately, nobody really seemed to have any firm details, but Severus rather doubted _that_ would last if Potter failed to be discreet. 

Sending a letter in this way, a letter that bore both their names, no less, was a poor beginning indeed.

Sneering again at the young man's abysmal grasp of discretion, Severus set himself to reading. 

> > Professor Snape,  
>   
>  I've carefully read the information you provided. I suppose I should thank you for compiling it, but at the moment I'm feeling too resentful. Just being honest.
>> 
>> You said to come talk to you when I'm ready. Frankly, I can't imagine ever being ready for a conversation about, you know. But I had some questions about what you wrote. Would you answer them in writing?  
>   
>  Harry Potter
>>
>>> 1) Did Caligula's invocation of the rite fail because his powers at that time were already in doubt, or because he was barking mad, or for some other reason? If the last time the rite was invoked it made the supplicant rip apart his pregnant wife and eat her unborn child, then wizards have had a pretty good reason to avoid it ever since. I don't want to end up insane and ripping someone's heart out, unless of course it's Voldemort's.
>>> 
>>> 2) I understand about the enslavement having to be real ( _only truth will evil tame_ ), and slaves by their very nature can't really own anything, so I get the part about having to give you my property. I don't like the idea, though. I have a _lot_ of Gringott's gold and I can't really believe I'm never going to need any of it again. Can we have an agreement that after Voldemort's dead, I get it back?
>>> 
>>> 3) If the spell is supposed to be used on a "very weak wizard," which you admit I'm not, what reason do we have to think that _any_ of the restrictions you mention will hold true? If we accept the prophecy, we have to believe that it will grant me twice filled powers, but as to the rest? _Compulsio,_ the limited mind-bond, even the need you so clearly state for obedience and a sexual relationship... in my view, all of these are in doubt, and most everything else you wrote in the maturing and consequences section of your summary. The fact that I go into the rite already marked as Voldemort's equal has got to have an effect on how the spell works, don't you think? 
>>> 
>>> 4) The rite was designed for lovers and we're going into it as anything but. Wouldn't that also produce drastic and unpredictable changes in the way the spell works? Maybe the sex part only needed to happen in ancient times because the supplicant and master wizard wanted it to. Wouldn't you agree?
>>> 
>>> 5) Why does invoking the spell require you to inflict pain on me? It seems out of context if the rite is supposed to presage that stuff you wrote about the Sex Magic (which I admit I don't really get).
>>> 
>>> 6) There are "no limits" to your behaviour towards me, you wrote. But as far as I could tell, nothing in the spell requires you to be a total bastard, so why can't we agree to some ground rules in advance? Technically, afterwards, you could ignore them and you know it, so we'd still have that "no limits" thing that's indicative of the complete slavery required. 
>>> 
>>> 7) I don't understand how I could be "magically prevented" from working a job if I wanted one, later.
>>> 
>>> 8) I also don't see any reason why _Podentes_ has to be so irrevocable. Even if I'm well and truly stuck with that contract, wouldn't _you_ be able to renounce it after I no longer needed the twice-filled powers? I presume that would end our magical connection and I'd go back to being my regular self, which would suit the Wizarding world better too, from the sound of things.
>>> 
>>> 9) About this part of the invocation in which you have to "permanently mark" me. Just what exactly does that mean? I don't want another scar, and I certainly don't want a mark like you've got.
>>> 
>>> H.P.

> >  

~

**Tuesday, May 12, 1998 ---- 4:15 p.m.**  
  
Harry was sitting on the lawn in the bailey, the N.E.W.T. study guide on his lap open to the chapter on Potions. Hermione had lent him the book, saying it made everything _ever so clear,_ but Harry had quickly found he couldn't agree. It was rapidly becoming clear to him that as hard as it was to learn Potions in the lab with Snape berating practically his every move, it was even harder to learn it from a book. How was he supposed to master list after list of interactions, let alone memorize how to brew the hundred-or-so formulations most often included on the massive exam?

_Recipes,_ he thought of them. He'd never had much trouble remembering even complicated recipes, but maybe that was because when he cooked for the Dursleys, they mostly left him alone to get on with it. Same with the weeding, and washing the windows, and most of his other chores. They might snipe and criticize, but that was usually afterwards. _While_ he was working, he could generally concentrate.

Unfortunately for Harry, Snape had never let him even _think_ in class, let alone concentrate. Except once, he mentally amended. Fifth year, after that disaster with Occlumency lessons, Snape had decided to positively _ignore_ him in class.

It had been heaven. He'd brewed a nearly perfect Potion, that day, not that it did his grade any good; Snape had knocked it to the floor in a fit of childish spite. But still, Harry knew he wasn't completely useless at Potions, not like Snape kept saying.

Sitting there with the study guide, though, he felt pretty useless. Hopeless, too. What was he going to do? The Auror's program required a high degree of competence in Potions.

Harry's depressing musings were interrupted by the arrival of a brown-speckled barn owl. It swooped low to drop a letter in his lap, then soared off without even waiting for a treat. Just as well; he didn't have any on him, anyway. 

Getting a letter was usually a banner event for Harry, but this one almost certainly had to be from Snape. Talk about depressing. A message from the Potions Master wouldn't be something to celebrate even in normal circumstances. And these circumstances were far from normal.

Still, he had asked for answers to his questions, so he supposed that things could be worse. At least Snape had bothered to respond, though the lack of any salutation or closing made it seem a terse, almost hostile reply: 

> > Your desire for information aside, we need to start preparing ourselves to undertake the rite. Come down to the dungeons directly after dinner this evening. As you will be visiting me quite a lot in the weeks to come, Albus has agreed that you may, each time, go to his office and Floo from there into my quarters, which are at all times thoroughly warded against unwanted sensory intrusions. This will avoid unnecessary talk, although I trust you recall that after we invoke the rite, your status as a slave will become known. Answers to your questions follow.
>>
>>> 1) Caligula was insane to begin with, and while you tend towards irritating, irresponsible, and insolent, I seriously doubt you'll end up ripping people to shreds.
>>> 
>>> 2) We can't have an agreement about your money, or anything else. Frankly, I'm surprised you have to ask. Any prior understanding we reach would cause you to yield yourself to me with reservations. This will not suffice; your submission must be unconditional. As to your concerns, the most I can offer is this: I am not a nice man, but neither am I given to acts of wanton cruelty, not even towards you. If you can't understand what I mean by that, you are even less intelligent than I have long supposed.
>>> 
>>> 3) _Podentes_ might function differently when two strong wizards enter into it, but I doubt it will function very much differently. To understand why, you would need to grasp the mechanics of interaxial magics. I concede, however, that we will need to test the mind-bond and _Compulsio_ to ascertain their effectiveness.
>>> 
>>> 4) The preceding paragraph aside, you are definitely not correct to surmise that our lack of a love relationship implies anything at all for the Sex Magic that is at the very heart of the _Podentes_ exchange. Plainly put, the physical act of receiving me into your body will call upon the magic generated at the invocation to grow and mature. When I climax inside you, that effect will be stronger, still. There is no way to avoid this particular aspect of _Podentes_ _,_ not if you actually wish to twice-fill your powers. (There is another reason, besides all this, why the Sex Magic in our case must not be neglected. I will not elaborate in writing. Ask me.)
>>> 
>>> 5) You questioned why part of the rite requires me to inflict pain on you. Obviously, the answer is because the spellcasters who constructed the invocation constructed magic around pain and pleasure both. As to why they would foreshadow sexuality in that way, need I really explain how erotic a little pain can be? Be that as it may, I also believe that the infliction of pain serves another function, putting into physical presence the truth that the master wizard is within his rights to do whatever he pleases with or to the supplicant.
>>> 
>>> 6) As to "no limits" on my behaviour towards you, no, we can't have a conversation establishing some. Don't misunderstand; I have no plans to flay you alive, delightful as I might find it. However, I can make no promises (see #2 for an explanation, if you've already forgotten the basics as you have done throughout seven years in class).
>>> 
>>> 7) You can be "magically prevented" from working a job in any number of ways. If you tried to acquire one, you might find yourself repeatedly Apparating back to me. This would be the contract's doing, not mine. If you continued in your defiance, you could well find yourself without hands to work with, until you ceased provoking the contract. These are examples, only. Magically binding contracts are notoriously unpredictable and _nothing to be trifled with._
>>> 
>>> 8) _Podentes_ is irrevocable. I will not be able to renounce the contract because, if you recall, I am not technically a party to it. You alone will sign. After the Dark Lord's demise, I could certainly cut off your access to my magic (and your own, if I chose), but knowledge that the arrangement was voluntary on my part is not likely to assuage the fears of the Wizarding public, given my reputation. There will be no way to end our magical connection and all it implies, ever. I would, however, be able to banish you from my presence if I wished. This would leave you in a rather deplorable condition as the contract would punish you the moment you tried to earn a living. It _may_ be possible for me to continue your support and maintenance while asking nothing in return. I suspect, however, that such behaviour, even initiated by me, would make a mockery of the contract. Mocking a magically binding contract is extremely foolhardy, as I explained before. In any case, our current circumstances make promises counterproductive, so don't ask for oaths about what we will do after you vanquish the Dark Lord.
>>> 
>>> 9) I've no wish to mark anyone, but as the invocation requires it, I will give some thought as to the best form for the mark to take.
>>> 
>>> This parchment is spelled to burn itself to ash in ten minutes, so if you wish to read it again, do so now. I am disheartened (though not surprised) that you gave no thought to protecting your own letter. Written communications discussing matters such as these are inherently unsafe. Do you wish to live past your nineteenth birthday? If so, do not endanger me again. Come to my quarters after dinner.

Harry shook his head. Paranoia was one thing; this was something else entirely. Still, Snape had survived years and years of spying, maybe _because_ he'd learned to be such a suspicious son of a bitch. With that in mind, Harry waited until the parchment had set itself ablaze, then waved it as it burned, scattering the ash over a wide sweep of grass.

Then, with a heavy heart, he went in to have his dinner.

~

** Tuesday, May 12, 1998 ---- 7:06 p.m. **

"Professor Snape has changed his wards to permit your entry," the headmaster said when Harry asked if he needed any sort of password to Floo down to the dungeons. "Just say 'Private quarters of Severus Snape.'"

Harry nodded, wondering if he looked as white as he felt.

"Harry," Dumbledore continued, "I trust Severus was... ah, less than his usual acerbic self when he explained _Podentes_ to you?"

"We didn't talk that much about it," Harry admitted. "Mostly he wanted to be sure this was really Trelawney's third prophecy. Which it is."

"Was the professor civil with you, though?"

Harry scowled. "Was _that_ the bet? Points off Gryffindor if he could manage to not to call me an idiot for five straight minutes? And don't say, _what bet, Harry..._ he let slip there was one, all right." Realizing he was clenching his hands, Harry thrust them out of sight, into the folds of his cloak. "It's just marvellous to be looking straight at a lifetime sentence of _slavery,_ sir, and know that you're taking wagers about me on the side!"

"It was the only way I could persuade Severus to treat  you with a modicum of respect," the headmaster explained. "He lost the bet, Harry, when you had the courage to seek him out about the prophecy."

"Oh," Harry slowly answered. "Well, that's not so bad then, I suppose. Um, is it still true, what you said to him the other night? He can't take points on my account, any longer?"

Dumbledore's long grey beard swung from side to side as he shook his head.

Harry's brow furrowed. "Is that no, he can, or no, he can't?"

"I will not permit it."

"Well, okay then. I guess he was sort of polite, in that case. I mean, he's bad at it but there were times when I think he must have been trying."

"He might not feel himself constrained any longer," the headmaster thought to warn.

"I'll keep it in mind," said Harry as he stepped across the hearth. Flinging down Floo powder with more force than was really necessary, he said the words that would transport him down to the dungeons.

~

** Tuesday, May 12, 1998 ---- 7:16 p.m. **

Severus was sitting on opposite the Floo when Potter arrived. Good manners had him standing up to greet his... well, he wasn't quite sure what the young man was, actually. _Guest_ was stretching things a bit, but he stood up all the same.

"Hang your cloak, there," he ordered, indicating a freestanding wooden rack a few steps from the fireplace.

"Nah, that's okay," the young man stubbornly said, holding to it almost like it was some sort of defence.

"Do it, Potter," Severus insisted. "And don't try to claim that you're cold. I spelled the dungeon warmer some time ago."

The young man's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Because," he sneered, "we have to accustom ourselves to one another. If you can't even bear to take off your cloak in my presence, how do you think we're going to manage all the rest?"

The young man snarled, but at least he did remove the damned cloak. Then he stood there glaring, defiant, his eyes narrowed with hatred.

Definitely, not a promising start to the less hostile relationship Severus had realised they needed. Taunting the young man with reminders of his future status as a catamite was unwise; it deepened his antagonism. Reminding himself to speak more moderately, Severus waved a hand toward the settee. Once Potter was seated, he eschewed his usual chair and sat down on the other end of the antique couch. Stretching his long legs out, he angled them towards the young man's, who gave them what could only be described as a suspicious glance. Then Potter had the temerity to draw his own legs back, as if casual contact with Severus just might taint him.

"For Merlin's sake!" Severus erupted. What was the young man thinking? "I'm not about to ravish you tonight, you know!"

"No, I don't know," came the heated reply. "I've got no effing _clue_ what you have in mind. All I know is you demanded I come down here so we could _prepare for a sexual relationship,_ your words exactly."

"You're taking what I wrote out of context--"

Potter had the gall to not only interrupt, but to do so with what was quite possibly the rudest series of comments Severus had ever heard. "For all I know," he raised his voice to say, "you're deliberately twisting the whole prophecy into something it's not, just because when it comes to me, you've always had this sick vengeance fantasy, and over things my bloody father did, no less! Is that what this is all about, Professor? You think it'll be great sodding fun to humiliate me like that, make me do things that'll make me sick to my stomach, so that I can hate _myself_ every bit as much as you hate James?"

Severus  bared his teeth. "I quite assure you, Mr Potter, this situation is _extremely distasteful_ to me, and _your_ part in it, nearly intolerable. I did not ask for this, and I do not want it. If you think I am misinterpreting that prophecy on purpose... well then, you're every bit as insane as that batty old bird who issued it."

Potter, he saw, was scarcely mollified. "Yeah, well, at least you're--"

"Yes?"

His dark tone had thrown the young man a little bit out of stride. Either that, or Potter wasn't completely without manners, for he stopped to think a moment, then carefully said, "I apologize, sir. It's not appropriate, what I was going to say."

"Which was?" That same dark tone that had made him pause now made him speak. Interesting.

"Ah, rumour has it that... um, well..."

The young man was hopeless, which didn't bode well. Severus almost sighed. He couldn't even coherently _discuss_ the matter?

"Are you by chance trying to elucidate a few words as to my sexual preferences, Potter?"

Dear Merlin, he couldn't even answer _that,_ just looked at him with wide, panicked eyes.

"I think you'll find that rumours usually have some foundation," Severus informed him. "I am in fact attracted to men."

Potter looked like he would faint, though he did manage to gasp out, "Uh, yeah. Well, I think you should know, I'm not."

_How astonishing,_ Severus thought, the words sarcastic even in his own mind, but all he said out loud was the more neutral, "I gathered."

"Yeah, well not only that but..." Potter closed his eyes, as if just mouthing the words made him feel defiled. "I understand what you wrote, about... oh, dear Merlin. Um, about what the prophecy is going to demand, the inti-- er, the personal side of it, I mean. But... I'm just not attracted to you, sir. I mean, not at _all._ "

"That's exceedingly obvious," Severus said, his tone short. "It also doesn't matter."

"How can it not matter, when we're supposed to... uh, you know?"  

"How blunt do you want me to be?" Severus asked, then watched as the young man's throat muscles distended, as a low blush rose from the collar of his white dress shirt to slowly stain his face. It almost looked as though his damned maroon-and-gold tie was choking off all breath, although maybe that came to mind because Severus had fantasized often enough about strangling Gryffindors with their house colours.

"I do believe you've gotten the picture," he sneered in disdain. To be sure, it couldn't be a _pleasant_ prospect for a eighteen-year-old heterosexual male, but it wasn't the end of the world, was it? The irritating young man seemed to think it was, which prompted Severus to say what he'd been trying not to, the moment before. "That's right, Potter. You don't have to be in love, or even find men attractive, in order to spread your legs and take it up the--"

"All right!" the Gryffindor interrupted. "That's blunt _enough!_ "

Severus leaned back and smirked, reaching his legs out more. So what if the young man was uncomfortable? Served him right, after he'd been so tactless as to announce not only that Severus wasn't attractive, but that any contact between them would make him sick. Severus had known all that to begin with; he certainly hadn't needed it flung in his face. 

When the dratted young man shrank back even farther into his corner, however, Severus suddenly didn't feel quite so pleased by his discomfort. _Really, Severus, he is only eighteen,_ his conscience reminded him. _Eighteen, and trying not to admit that Podentes scares him to death, the Gryffindor._

"I think we got off on the wrong foot this evening," Severus announced, abruptly moving into what he thought of as his _host_ voice. Maybe if he treated the young man as a guest instead of a pest, things would proceed a bit more smoothly. "Let's begin again. Harry, how nice of you to visit me. What can I get for you? A butterbeer? Something stronger?"

The young man made a sort of choking sound. "I can't decide if I'm more shocked to hear my first name, or hear you offering me a drink."

Severus decided they might as well deal with the names business, first. "I called your father _Potter,_ too, and you're right that I hated him. Given what we have to get through together, I think it would be better not to keep blurring the line between you, don't you, Harry?"

The young man looked as though he still thought his name sounded strange coming from that quarter, but he nodded as he answered, "Yeah, all right, Professor."

"Severus."

Oh Merlin, there he was, doing his gaping fish routine again. It was all Severus could do not to reach over and lift his chin to close that mouth. 

"Severus," Harry echoed in an extremely doubtful tone, a tone that said quite clearly, _Yeah, right... snowballs'll dance in Hell before I call you Severus._ 

"I've really no interest in being called _Professor,_ or even _sir_ in bed," Severus explained, not letting the young man's blush bother him as much this time. They had to get past his embarrassment; it was as simple as that. He sighed. "In fact, it's rather upsetting that you're so young, and a student. At least you aren't in my class any longer. Ah... which reminds me. How is your N.E.W.T. revision going, by the way?"

"Uh, okay," Harry mumbled, looking away. Severus wasn't sure he believed him, and knew a moment's uneasiness, but pushed it away. He couldn't very well invite him back, could he? Not that he wanted to, but even if he did, it would be inappropriate to resume a teacher/student relationship, given that the bloody prophecy was going to force them into certain intimacies. And it wasn't as though they could wait until the school year ended, was it? With July 31st looming just over the horizon, they hadn't any time to waste.

"You didn't tell me what you would prefer to drink," Severus prompted.

"Ah, don't know," Harry said, apparently fascinated by the sight of his own hands. He started using his thumbnail to absently pick at the cuticle of one finger, even as his feet tapped out some sort of jiggling rhythm against the stone floor.

"Oh, for the love of Merlin!" Severus exclaimed. "Why can't you just relax?"

That got Harry looking up. And talking, though Merlin knew, the young man's diction was atrocious.

"Geez, why do you think, _Severus?_ " Harry mocked, but it wasn't in him to sustain that dark tone for long. He stood up and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Listen, I... I don't think I can do this, okay? I mean, um, not tonight. I need more time to get used to the idea, so I'd just better go. Anyway, I have loads to do."

"Sit," Severus directed, and waited until Harry sank back down. " _This_ is a great deal more important than anything else, and you know it. But as for what you can't do _tonight..._ " He smothered back a slight laugh. The young man's plight wasn't really all that amusing. Not really. "I think you've misconstrued my battle plan, so to speak. What did you think we were going to do tonight?"

"Uh.... er..." 

Again with the blush, this one so fierce it radiated heat towards Severus. He toyed briefly with the idea of demanding an answer, but decided it wouldn't serve his purpose to make Harry even more uncomfortable.

"Whatever you were worried about, dismiss it," the Potions Master recommended. "Tonight, I thought we ought to talk, and try to get a little bit more accustomed to each other's company." When Harry scowled slightly, Severus drawled, "Yes, the prospect is vile to me as well, but needs will out."

Harry surprised him, then, stretching out his legs at last--though he kept them well away from Severus'--and tossing out, "In that case, butterbeer, I think."

Severus stood up and strode to the Floo, though before tossing in a pinch of powder to contact the kitchens, he did remark, "You're welcome to have something stronger, if you wish. You are of age."

"No, I really do have to study later," Harry insisted.

Severus shot him a derisive glance, then called through for a butterbeer and a cup of hot tea to be served in his quarters. Before he even got back to the settee, the drinks had winked into existence on the low, French-style table within reach.

He waited until Harry had relaxed enough to take a sip, before inquiring, "So, how are your classes going this term?"

That certainly didn't get him the reaction he had hoped for. Shocked speechless, Harry just about strangled on his drink and ended up spraying a good mouthful of it out. Then he burst into nervous laughter, though he managed to retain enough presence of mind to grasp the handkerchief Severus accioed, and mop at his vest.

"It's called polite conversation, Harry," Severus sneered. "Are you completely unfamiliar with the concept? Were you raised in a family of baboons?"

"It's just not... _you,_ " the young man muttered, bolstering himself with a few more sips. Ones he actually swallowed, though it was anyone's guess how he could feel bolstered by a juvenile drink like _butterbeer_. Well, Severus reflected, he'd probably have plenty of time to educate the young man's palate, assuming he cared to bother.

He tried again, though this time his opener was admittedly less polite. "You suggest a topic, brilliant conversationalist that you are. Ah yes, I can just imagine the Gryffindor common room of a night, as you hold court over Basilisks and Hippogriffs and your many triumphs in the vaunted Tri-Wizard Tournament. Hmm, did you spend your winnings on some useless fripperies, or are they locked away in the vault you're shortly to give me?"

"Shut _the fuck up,_ " Harry softly snarled.

Not about to put up with language like that, Severus automatically snapped, "Ten points from--"

He broke it off himself, actually feeling foolish. Albus was right; this wasn't a House matter. It was between him and Potter. Him and _Harry,_ he reminded himself. 

"I think," Harry carefully said, "that instead of trading insults, we ought to deal with the issue you keep alluding to, but won't explain. Some other reason why _in our particular case,_ I think you said, the er... Sex Magic is needed?"

"You _would_ have to ask," Severus sourly replied.

"You said to."

"Be quiet and let me think!"

A bit puzzled, Harry fell to sipping his drink until it was gone. 

Severus gathered his thoughts, surprised at how difficult it was, but of course, this wasn't something he discussed every day. Only Albus knew what he was about to disclose. Or rather, only Albus and the Death Eaters who'd been present for the events he was about to describe. "How much do you understand about Sex Magic?" he finally began.

"Not much," Harry said, and at a sharp look, amended that to, "Well, nothing. I was going to ask if you'd recommend a book."

"I shall point out one you may read while in my quarters. For now, though... let us begin with an example from Potions, and work from there. Can you name a Potion that requires human blood as a constituent?"

The young man had to actually think a moment, which was disappointing. "Um, a love philtre?" he asked, obviously unsure.

"Yes," Severus said, restraining comments as to study habits and the like. "Now, _why_ must a successful philtre contain the blood of both lover and loved?"

Less hesitation that time, at least. "Something in the blood identifies the individuals the philtre should affect."

Severus nodded. "And in other kinds of potions, blood, or saliva, or semen can carry with them various sorts of magical power; would you agree with that?"

"Um, yeah," Harry agreed, though he did glance away once, and swallow hard, before looking back. "Go on."

"Is it _only_ in Potions that such substances can manage to convey their power?"

The young man snorted. "Yeah, well I can tell _already_ that you're going to tell me it's not. But I don't think that every time somebody shags his girlfriend there's magic in the air. Or at least, not the way you mean."

"Sex Magic and mere sex are distinct," the Slytherin agreed. "Potions bind bodily fluids to the brewer's will by combining them with Earth Magic. Sex Magic does something similar by means of spells. Now, in our case, the spell will be invoked, and sealed inside your soul, by the invocation I described to you. Afterwards, any intimacy between us will trigger the spell to blossom, as it were. In effect, for us _,_ sex and Sex Magic _will_ become synonymous."

"But that would be true of any two people who entered _Podentes_ _,_ " Harry pointed out. "So what's this about our particular case being exceptional?"

Severus closed his eyes. "I've had Sex Magic invoked upon me, before. Powerful spells that still sit deep in my own soul, spells sealed with the kinds of intimacies you and I must engage in."

Harry looked away, not so much this time because he was embarrassed, but because it didn't seem right to stare at the pain flitting across his teacher's features. "Um... no offence, but... I don't really understand what that has to do with our situation."

"It's most likely the reason why fate has chosen me to do this for you _,_ " Severus replied, eyes still closed, though by then his expression was shuttered off. "I had magical power transferred into me. It wasn't a _Podentes_ spell, obviously, nothing like twice-filled powers. But a certain amount of power not my own was granted me. It's bound to my semen." Pausing, he waited for a response.

It came more slowly than he would have liked. "Um, okay. I understand, I think. This power, it's in your... uh, you know, and you end up transferring this power to anybody you sleep with?"

"No," Severus said, resisting an impulse to add _you idiot_ to the comment. He drank the rest of his tea and winced at the bitterness of the cooled brew. "Only to someone I invoke Sex Magic with. The spells binding the power to me are strong, but they're nothing to _Podentes_ _._ To effect the transfer, you'll have to receive my semen into your body."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I _got_ that. I think your take it up the arse comment cleared it up rather well."

"There's value in plain speaking," Severus returned, unwilling to apologize. "Better that than you misunderstand. Although I probably should mention also that _any_ intimacy between us will strengthen the _Podentes_ exchange. Certain intimacies are simply... more powerful. Now, as to the other transfer, the one that will give to you the foreign powers currently bound to _me:_ we need to accomplish it before your birthday."

It took Harry a moment to make the intuitive leap. "Oh. That's how I'll manage to survive the attack that's coming on the 31st. I'll have this extra power... and we have to do _Podentes_ in order to cancel out the magic binding it to you, so that I can acquire it. Okay."

"Yes. The release of the bound power should be fairly instantaneous, I should think. After all, it's not really mine; _Podentes_ will make a new binding possible. Your twice-filled powers, you understand, should develop over time. How much time, it's impossible to say, though what's clear is that your deepening enslavement to me, especially in the physical sense, is what makes them mature."

"Yeah, got it," Harry murmured, his mind still on the matter of the foreign powers bound into his teacher's body. There was something missing, something he didn't quite grasp about it all... "Um... the Sex Magic. So you've got this little bit of extra power that's not your own, and I'll get it when we, you know. But, so what? I mean, why would that make me able to withstand _his_ attack?"

"It was his power to begin with," Severus admitted.

It took Harry a moment to understand. "You don't mean... oh."

"I see you've grasped the implication."

"Yeah," Harry answered, unsure what else to reply. _Ick, yech,_ and _you have got to be kidding me_ all seemed completely gauche, not to mention offensive. But still, Snape and Voldemort? It _was_ gross.

"Long ago, the Dark Lord thought to use me to spy here at Hogwarts. In case I was not strong enough in of myself to withstand scrutiny from a Legilimens such as Albus, he gave me some of his power. In _that_ manner."

"Okay... so suppose you pass it on to me, in _that_ manner," Harry echoed in as level a tone as he was able. Judging from the look Snape gave him, he realised his disgust must have bled through, but there was nothing he could do about that. "How does that keep him from killing me on my birthday?"

"Having _his own magic_ inside you will blunt the magic he uses against you. It's a bit like the twinned wands resisting each other. It won't make you able to defeat him--for that we need the _Podentes_ exchange at full strength--but it will certainly keep him from killing you."

Harry thought about that as he set his bottle down. "But that magic's inside you, now. Does it have that effect on you? It blunts his magic?"

"If it did not, I'd be like the Longbottoms by now. The Sex Magic he long ago invoked on me is all that's made me able to endure so many castings of Cruciatus."

"Um... did this happen just once?"

"Cruciatus?" Severus questioned, sure he'd just answered that. Though of course, Potter... Harry, hardly ever listened.

"No, the Sex Magic. Was it just the one time?"

Severus scowled. "I don't care to discuss my prior liaisons with you. Any of them, is that clear?"

"I have a right to know--"

"No, you don't," Severus interrupted. "You have no rights at all, or soon won't. So stop thinking that way; it can only be counterproductive. Now, what else did you wish to ask about?"

"Your plan," Harry said, biting his lip. "To... you know."

"To prepare us for a sexual relationship?" Severus clarified.

The young man, he saw, actually blanched, though they'd already been discussing the matter for several minutes. "Uh, yeah," he finally managed in a thin voice. "What did you mean? I mean, exactly?"

Severus was strongly tempted to issue another _How blunt would you like me to be,_ along with detailed descriptions, but managed to resist. He didn't, after all, really want Harry Potter passed out cold from shock. "Let's mutually agree upon a timetable, shall we?" he said instead. "There are three weeks left until the N.E.W.T.s, and after that, just two more weeks of term. Then, after about six weeks of summer, you'll pass your nineteenth birthday. So, sometime in the next eleven weeks, you and I must successfully invoke the _Podentes_ spell and manage to enter into a full-fledged sexual relationship. Is that much clear to you?"

"Crystal," Harry gasped.

Severus ignored the histrionics. "You also understand, I trust, that rape can't play any part of it?"

"You made it... clear," he admitted, turning his face to the side.

"Good. Would you therefore agree that you and I need to spend a great deal of time together in the coming weeks, so that consensual physical... closeness will become possible?" A long silence ensued. "Harry?"

The answer was reluctant, to say the least. "Yes, all right, I would agree," Harry conceded. "And I know you said that _this_ ," his hand waved haphazardly toward Severus, "was more important than my studies, but that doesn't mean I want to blow my N.E.W.T.s all to hell. So I don't know what you mean by a _great deal of time_ , but we can't just let my studies slide."

"I wouldn't dream of interfering with your schooling," Severus snidely put in, "seeing as your dedication to learning has been so very impressive throughout your tenure here."

"I didn't say I was _brilliant,_ " Harry shot back. "Just that I'd prefer not to fuck up my life any more than the prophecy will do all on its bloody own!"

"I wouldn't want to interfere with your studies," Severus said again. "But we can perhaps combine objectives. I suggest that every weeknight after dinner, you come down here and study almost until curfew. For three weeks, I will assist you if you have questions about your subjects. We will also use the time to talk, Harry, and touch, although nothing terribly personal, not before your exams. You should spend most of each Saturday here as well, though I suggest we let Sundays be a day of rest."

So far, it all sounded doable to Harry, though not terribly appealing. He was more worried about what might come next. "And after the N.E.W.T.s?"

"The same schedule, but our focus will necessarily change to preparing ourselves to undertake the invocation, which I believe we should do the week after you graduate."

Harry frowned. "Why not wait until nearer my birthday? I mean, sure, _Podentes_ will let you transfer to me this Sex Magic you think will protect me, but if the prophecy's to be believed, I won't need the protection until July 31st."

Severus sighed, but looked him in the eyes, black eyes boring into green. "You aren't looking forward to the intimate side of all this, obviously. Invoking _Podentes_ sooner may help with that."

"You think it's going to make me want... you know... with you?"

"Nothing so blatant as that; there's no love charm hidden in the spell, nor anything aphrodisial. It's just that it may be easier for you to adjust to matters once I actually own you."

"Oh God..." Harry turned his face away. "Own me."

Severus hardened his own features, because playing to the young man's self-pity, after all, wasn't going to help matters. "Get used to the idea," he abruptly ordered. "Once it's done, I'm going to own you for the rest of your life."

Harry lurched to his feet and grabbed his cloak as he staggered toward the Floo. "That's enough for tonight, I think," he pronounced, his gaze searching the mantle. "Where's your Floo powder?"

"One moment," Severus instructed. "Are we agreed, Harry? About our meeting times and all that?"

"After dinner every weekday and all day Saturday will just about ruin my last few weeks here, but yeah, we're agreed."

"Good," Severus silkily instructed. "Now, listen. Each weeknight, bring your books. Hang your cloak in the headmaster's office before you Floo--"

"I'm not taking orders from you yet, _sir_."

"Yes, you are. My sole interest is making you ready for the rite, not to mention what follows, so you will do as I say. Before you object again, recall what is at stake: first your life, and after that, your capacity to vanquish the Dark Lord. Against all that, it's a bit silly to worry about your last few weeks of school being _ruined._ "

"Yes, sir," Harry spat.

"Severus," the older man reminded him. "From now on. And one more thing. No more sex with Granger, or anybody else."

Harry widened his eyes in surprise, then narrowed them into a glare. "What was it you told me, that your liaisons are none of my business?"

"And they're not," Severus calmly returned. "I'm not bound to any ideal of fidelity, here. But you will be. And I'm warning you, the magic in _Podentes_ will not perceive you as sincere if you are willingly sharing your body with anybody but _me_ in the weeks before the invocation."

"That's a load of rot--"

"No, it isn't. Remember, this spell was constructed for wizards in love."

"Oh." Harry drew in what Severus could only interpret as a vastly disappointed breath. "What about, um, just tonight, for me and... somebody? And starting tomorrow I'll... um, abstain."

"Absolutely not. Start abstaining now. This instant, and I do mean complete abstention. Don't even satisfy yourself. But don't look so perturbed. You're a normal young man, with strong, frequent desires, yes? Having them frustrated, while not terribly enjoyable, _will_ help you adjust to your situation."

"How's that?" Harry asked, though he blushed.

"I think you can figure that out for yourself," Severus replied. He accioed a tarnished copper box from a shelf across the room, and opening it, extended it to Harry, who wasted no time grabbing a handful of Floo powder and vanishing in a flash of green fire.

Then he leaned back against an antique tapestry, not quite sure whether to sigh again, or laugh.


	9. Chapter 9

 

 

** Wednesday, May 13, 1998 and Thursday, May 14, 1998 **

The next couple of nights weren't nearly as bad as Harry had feared. Mostly, he just sat curled up in the corner of Snape's settee, a book propped on his bent knees, a magical orb hovering over him to provide good light, and read. Snape read too, most often sitting on the other side of the settee, his long legs stretched out towards Harry, just as on that first night.

Neither one of them wore robes.

Harry mostly wandered down in his school uniform, which was pretty formal even without the enveloping cloak. White dress shirt, gold-and-maroon tie, grey vest and trousers, black shoes and socks. He was every inch covered except for face and hands, but somehow, without his robes, just felt _exposed._ It was somehow infuriating that Snape obviously felt perfectly at ease without _his_ voluminous robes. Of course, these were his quarters, so maybe that made all the difference, Harry thought, but it was a depressing thought. After they invoked the spell, he'd have to live under Snape's roof, which probably meant _here_. 

Harry shuddered just thinking about it. He didn't believe he was really the type to thrive in the dungeons, but like so much else entailed by _Podentes_ _,_ he wasn't going to get a choice.

Harry hadn't really believed that sitting and studying with Snape about was going to do much to further a _less rancorous_ relationship, but really, it was surprising how much he learned about the Potions Master during those first few nights. When not working, Snape was apparently accustomed to far more casual clothing, though he still favoured the colour black to an inordinate degree. Still, a black dress shirt with trousers was much less intimidating to Harry than the more old-fashioned clothing that was Snape's usual attire. He wondered if the classroom clothing: the vests, the tunics, were better protection against Potions accidents, or if Snape just knew their effect on terrified young students. Probably the latter.

But clothing was the least of what Harry observed during those initial nights with the man shortly to become his owner. Really, when Snape was relaxed, he could be almost tolerable. Harry didn't ask any questions about his subjects for the first two nights; he didn't dare. He'd learned well enough in Potions class that admitting to ignorance was tantamount to asking for ridicule. And if there was anything he didn't need, it was to be reminded of Snape's real opinion of him. In one sense, that opinion didn't matter, of course; Harry didn't really _care_ what Snape thought. Of course he didn't. On another level, however, it did have to matter, because like it or not, Snape was going to have control over him, all too soon. Snape's impatience with idiocy was legend, and Harry didn't see much reason to remind the man that he'd always considered one Harry Potter the very personification of idiocy.

On the third night, about halfway through, Snape set his book aside and shifted over towards Harry to glance at what he was jotting down on parchment. At first, Harry wasn't too concerned about the change of routine. He'd grown to understand that Snape wasn't about initiate anything physical--at least, not without warning him--and as for the notes, they were about Astronomy anyway, so the Potions Master wasn't likely to have much comment.

Wrong.

At least on the second count.

"Planets do not actually travel backwards during retrograde motion," Snape abruptly announced.

Harry glanced up, his concentration broken. "I know."

"Your notes do not bear that out."

When he glanced down at what he had written, Harry scowled. "Well, I put that wrong. But I do understand it." He made a show of getting back to his text.

"The expert who reads your N.E.W.T. essay will not know what you understand, he will only know what you have written, so you must express yourself clearly. Scratch that out and reword it."

"It's okay," Harry mumbled. "I'll use better phrasing on the test."

"Oblige me," Snape requested in an odd tone. Harry glanced up again, puzzled to see Snape's inky gaze staring at him, his expression far more intense than what seemed appropriate.

"It's just some notes, Professor--" Harry tried to explain, only to realise he'd been wrong on the first count, as well. Given enough provocation, Snape _would_ touch him without warning.

The Potions Master took his wrist in a firm grip and squeezed. Not hurtfully, not cruelly, but it certainly got Harry's attention. He looked down at the white fingers compressing his tanned wrist, and winced at the sight.

"Severus," came a low command. "Say it."

Harry's breath hitched slightly. He didn't _want_ to say it, probably because even mouthing the name would be acknowledging what the future had in store for him.

"Now," Snape growled, his fingers tightening until the pressure became uncomfortable.

"Geez, go guzzle a Calming Draught or something!" Harry exclaimed. "You're getting a little bit het up over nothing, you know, _Severus_." It felt wrong on his tongue, it really did. Almost... well, sort of indecent, he realised. Whatever his class programme said, the man was still his teacher. Or sort of, anyway.

"I should think you would realise," Snape remarked, releasing him, "that this disobedience is something quite significant, Harry. You have to get used to doing as I say. Remarkable that seven years in class hasn't conditioned you, but as it hasn't, you'd better work all the harder on cultivating a taste for submission."

"Oh, what, that was a test?" Harry jeered. He couldn't help it; even the mere word _submission_ called to mind images that were frankly sexual in nature. He could hardly stand the thought.

"That was a _request,_ " Snape heavily explained. "And you ignored it. You need to start practicing obedience now, Harry, because after we invoke the spell, behaviour like that will be dangerous. Didn't you read the entire précis? If you rebel against me in future, I might very well hurt you! So don't be an idiot. Start now as you mean to go on, and do as I say. _Scratch that line out and correct it._ "

Harry did so, but not without a few muttered curses and a great sarcastic flourish in the way he waved the quill.

"Idiot," Snape pronounced. "All you're doing is proving that you need more practice obeying me. So, let's move on to that, shall we? Set aside your text."

"I still need to study--"

Snape's hand snaked out and grabbed the book. " _Don't,_ " he stressed, "make me punish you."

"You can't, not yet! Dumbledore would have your head, or your job at the very least!"

"I wouldn't count on that," Snape snapped. "Unlike you, Albus has a keen understanding of how important it is for us to learn to get along!"

"You don't want to _get along_ ," Harry sneered. "You just want to boss and control me!"

"You _imbecile,_ " Snape breathed, disgust lancing every word. "I don't want this at all. It's been forced on me, and the fact that I happen to have acquired the dominant role in this farce we have to make real makes it no less a violation! Do you think I _want_ you bound to my every whim, constantly underfoot? Do you think I want to be solely responsible for restraining your usual brainless response to danger of any sort? It's repugnant to me, all of it!"

Harry curled himself up a little bit more tightly, though by then he knew he should be used to that kind of invective. He'd heard it his whole life, after all. That he was a bother, that the adults in his life would just as soon not _be_ bothered, not by the likes of him.

"Now," Snape softly snarled, "are you truly intending to invoke _Podentes_ with me? It's entirely voluntary, you understand. But if you're crying off, tell me now so I can stop wasting my precious time on a worthless young man with a death wish!"

"I said I'd do it," Harry protested, lifting his chin even as the rest of him remained huddled. 

"So you _say._ But are you more than talk, Mr Potter, or will you persist in this defiance that's virtually certain to doom our effort to failure?"

"I'm not just talk," Harry protested, deeply offended. 

Snape threw the book at him, fast and hard, and only Harry's Quidditch reflexes kept it from slamming into his skull. "Let's try again," he silkily announced. "Harry. _Set your book aside._ "

Harry tossed it onto a nearby table and asked with exaggerated courtesy, "Yes, Severus? Whatever can I do for you?"

Oooh, bad idea to challenge him, Harry realised a moment later, for what Snape said next shocked him, it really did. Probably it shouldn't have; it was a small enough request, after all. Small, but yes, somehow very shocking coming from the likes of Snape.

"Take off your tie," Snape directed, his eyes narrowed as to gauge the young man's reaction.

Harry's nostrils flared. So the Potions Master was testing him now, testing his obedience? Harry wasn't going to be the one to fold, so he said in that same simpering voice. "Oh yes, Severus. Anything for you, Severus."

And flung his Gryffindor colours to the side.

"Now your vest."

That time, Harry glared, wondering just how long this stupid game was going to go on. "Oh, my pleasure," he sniped, whipping it over his head. The move would have been more dramatic had it not got caught on his glasses. Muttering, Harry untangled them and got the stupid vest off. "Shirt now?" he gibed.

"You truly are stupid," Snape abruptly sighed. "Has it not yet dawned on you that I've _been_ punishing your rudeness for the past few minutes? If you don't figure out how to obey me with good grace, and soon, I fear you'll find yourself starkers. And though that's coming, make no mistake, it's really _much_ too soon for you to... handle it well."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling just as stupid as Snape had called him, which didn't happen very often. 

"All right, let's try one more and see if you've learned anything. Unbutton your shirt."

That time, Harry simply nodded and did it, though his fingers were trembling. He didn't meet Snape's gaze. Couldn't.

"Get through the rest of your chapter," he heard his teacher say.

Harry hurriedly grabbed his book and got back to work.

  
  
  
  


** Friday, May 15, 1998 ---- Evening **

The next night passed without incident, though the moment Harry Flooed down, Snape had him take off his tie and waistcoat. Harry didn't know what that was about. Was it a subtle warning, or merely Snape's way of trying to further their progress toward a less formal relationship? Harry didn't ask.

Snape interrupted his studies several times that evening, mostly to ask him pointed questions about his Transfiguration revision. A correct answer would earn him merely a nod. To his astonishment, however, an incorrect answer didn't result in a lengthy diatribe as to his deficiencies of intellect. Instead, Snape would actually _explain_ the subject matter, using leading questions to guide him to a clearer understanding of the topic. It was a technique Harry had observed the Potions Master use in class, though he'd never before bothered to use it with Harry.

It worked really well, too. In just a few short hours, he suddenly felt he had a much better grasp of Transfiguration principles and applications. Harry wasn't sure what surprised him more, that Snape had actually taught him something, or that the man was expert at something more than Potions.

When it was nearly time to go, Harry dressed and gathered up his things, and casually mentioned,   
"Tomorrow's the last Hogsmeade Saturday of the year, so I thought I'd--"

"No," Snape interrupted. 

"Look, if our time together is that critical, I'll make it up on Sunday--"

" _No._ "

"Why?" Harry demanded to know, planting his feet. "I never get to see my friends now, except for class and meals."

"And soon you won't see them at all," Snape coldly informed him, standing up and walking to the hearth to stand facing him. "It's just the way things have to be. Come here tomorrow as you agreed. Ten sharp."

"I can't study all day," Harry protested. "My brain'll explode."

Snape quirked a smile, but it was entirely derisive, not truly amused at all. "No doubt it would. But it's not my intention that you study at all, not tomorrow. It's time we made an effort to become better acquainted."

It didn't take Harry long to catch the implication of that phrase. "Oh God," he lightly moaned, twisting his torso away in a reflexive gesture.

"Yes, I'm in raptures over it, too," Snape sneered.

"Do we have to?" Harry plaintively asked, turning back. "It's pretty soon."

Snape regarded him, his eyes shadowed but serious. "We may have left it too late, Harry. Do you recall what I wrote about the invocation rite, about the requirement for me to inflict pain and then pleasure on you?"

Harry gave a jerky nod; he was hardly likely to have forgotten.

"What else did I write in that regard?" his teacher softly asked. 

Harry's eyes closed in defeat. "That I must be able to um... be able to feel both at your hand."

"That's so," Snape returned, the words a slow hiss in his mouth. "At present, Harry, are you capable of even imagining that?"

"Oh God," Harry said again, taking a clumsy step away. His heel caught on the raised stones of the hearth, and he stumbled, his back colliding with the fireplace.

"Answer me."

It took Harry a moment to recall the question through the vague panic clouding his mind. "Um... pain, yeah. I can imagine you inflicting pain..."

"Really," Snape drawled, stepping forward so that he towered over Harry again. "This is fascinating. I did mean physical pain, you realise." He slid a finger beneath the young man's chin and tilted his face up so that he could gaze down into his glistening green eyes. "When have you ever seen me impose physical pain on anyone, Harry?"

Harry's memory swam with too many images of just that. His scar burned thinking about it. "Visions," he gasped. "Meetings, Death Eaters. You, casting _Cruciatus_ on MacNair, Nott--" When Snape dropped his hand, Harry's memory mercifully cleared. He blinked, feeling like he was swimming up through murk.

Snape had somehow moved away from him, though Harry hadn't noticed. The Potions Master was leaning against an opposite wall, his arms crossed, his expression shuttered. 

"We'll work on the pleasure tomorrow, then."

Hearing the dismissal in the words, Harry snatched up some Floo powder and got out of there.


	10. Chapter 10

 

 

** Saturday, May 16, 1998 ---- 9:17 a.m. **

Missing a trip to Hogsmeade was bad enough, Harry thought. What made it worse was that he had to lie to Ron and Hermione about it. What was he going to tell them? _I have to go down to the dungeons and practice letting Snape..._ well, he could hardly say that, could he? He couldn't even finish the comment mentally, as he really had no idea what Snape intended to do to him.

Oh, dear Merlin... the Potions Master wasn't intending to _kiss_ him, was he? Tempted to break out into hysterical moans, Harry bit the side of his own hand, hard, grinding down until he thought he could hold it together. Because of _course_ Snape wasn't going to try kissing him. The idea was ludicrous. Their goal, after all, was for Harry to learn to feel pleasure at Snape's hand, not to get so disgusted that he'd sick up in the middle of their... whatever.

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked, and only then did Harry realise that she hadn't left the common room, that she still wanted to know why he couldn't come to Hogsmeade. 

"Oh, yeah," he answered, trying to force the horror he felt out of his voice. "I just really have to study, you know. Learning Potions without class is really a lot harder than I'd figured on, that's all. I'm going to spend the whole day in the library, trying to cram something into my brain."

Hermione frowned. "I'll skip Hogsmeade too, all right? I've come up with some acronyms to help me remember the brewing sequence of some of the more unusual potions--"

"Oh no, you go," Harry insisted, thinking fast. It was pretty hard, actually, when it seemed like his whole mind was filled with only one thought: _What's Snape going to do to me..._ "Acronyms aren't going to help... yeah, it's more the practical I'm worried about. I never get a chance to brew now, you know..."

"Then how is studying all day in the library going to help?" Reaching up, Hermione brushed a few strands of hair back from his face. 

"Well, I have to do what I can!" Harry snapped. 

"Have you asked Professor Snape for help?"

"Yeah, _right_ ," Harry muttered. He hadn't brought his Potions text down to the dungeons, not once. He was being immature and irrational, and he knew it, but after seven years of ridicule, he couldn't work on that subject with Snape, he just couldn't. Discussing his other courses... that was actually working out all right. But Potions? There was too much history there. "He'll just yell at me that I'm stupid, Hermione."

He headed toward the door, only to be brought up short as Hermione quietly asked, "It's the prophecy, isn't it?"

Harry whirled. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you haven't really talked much about it, not since that day the headmaster called you out of Transfiguration, but I know it's got to be on your mind."

 _Oh, good._ Harry thought. _She hasn't realised where I go all those nights when I say I need to be alone to study._ "It's all worked out," he told her, looking around to be sure they were alone. Even so, he lowered his voice. "We aren't going to... uh, do anything about it until I graduate. But then... well, you heard."

"I'm so, so sorry," Hermione groaned. "No wonder you can't ask him for permission to let you practice in the lab after hours. You'd probably rather not see him at all, at least, until you don't have any choice."

"Yeah, I'd rather not see him at all," Harry answered with heavy irony. He headed towards the portrait hole.

"You're forgetting your books," Hermione observed, her voice lilting with puzzlement.

"Right," Harry said, and ran upstairs to get them, Potions included. Hermione would notice if he went back down without it. He gave her a friendly wave, and tried his best to look like he was just heading for a day of hitting the books, instead of whatever _pleasure_ Snape had in mind.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 16, 1998 ---- 10:01 a.m. **

"I told you not to bring your books!" Snape rebuked him, the moment Harry strode from the Floo. 

Harry flinched slightly, realizing he should have left them in the headmaster's office. He set them on the mantle, shrugging. "I had to bring them as cover, otherwise Hermione wouldn't believe I had to skip Hogsmeade to study."

"Ah," Snape returned, looking him up and down, his lips twisting. "That is your usual weekend attire?"

At that, Harry stiffened, and glanced down at his worn blue jeans and Chudley Cannons sweat shirt. It could be worse; he could have thrown on some of the clothes the Dursleys had given him, instead of things he'd bought for himself. At least these fit. "Sorry, sir. Did you want me to wear my school uniform?"

"Severus," Snape corrected him. "Say it."

"Severus," Harry obediently repeated, though he grimaced. "Should I run back up and change?"

"No. I was merely trying to ascertain what to purchase for you for later. You do recall that you have to give up all your belongings?"

Harry blinked. "Even my clothes?"

"Everything."

Harry couldn't help it; his mind leaped ahead to that particular point during the invocation ceremony. " _Don't_ tell me I have to get naked in front of the witnesses--"

"No." Snape had the gall to laugh at the image. "I'm going to provide for you. Don't worry."

Unamused, Harry stared stonily back. Between time spent with Snape, panicking over his N.E.W.T.s, and dreading living under _Podentes_ _,_ he was nothing but a tangled mass of worry.

"Have a seat," Snape finally invited. To Harry's surprise, they took their usual places on the settee. He'd sort of expected the other man to sidle up close to him, or something, given what he was here for. "Now, a drink," the Potions Master decreed, a small smile making his expression less severe. "Something stronger than your usual butterbeer."

"Scotch." Nothing like a little Dutch courage, Harry thought.

"I'd like you to relax, not pass out," Snape dryly announced, absently pushing one hand through his hair, brushing the black strands away from his face. Harry couldn't quite believe his eyes, because though he'd seen that same gesture at least a thousand times in class (although _never_ when Snape was actually brewing), he didn't think he'd ever seen those fingers carding through clean hair before. It was sort of eerie, actually, realizing that the man must have broken a pattern many years in the making and actually washed it. Harry suddenly felt quite ill. Snape hadn't done it because of _this,_ had he? Because he was going to start touching Harry? On the one hand, that was sort of... considerate, in a way, but that impression was completely overshadowed by the god awful _creepiness_ of having that hair anywhere near him.

"A little scotch won't make me pass out," Harry managed to protest, feeling more than ever that he need a strong dose of alcohol to help him through this.

"You speak from experience?"

"Um, no..."

"You can try it another time, once I've seen how you react to a glass or two of a nice wine."

 _Wine?_ Harry flushed, suddenly feeling like he'd stepped into a seduction scene. 

"Don't look like that," Snape advised him. "I told you we wouldn't do anything terribly physical until after your exams."

"Then... what exactly did you want to... um, want us to do?"

Instead of accioing what he needed, Snape stood up and left the room, then returned with two crystal glasses and a bottle labelled entirely in French. A bit of magic had the cork popping out on its own, but he poured the wine the Muggle way, and handed Harry a glass of something fragrant and ruby red. "Sip," he advised. "Savour it."

"You didn't answer my question," Harry reminded him, taking a tiny taste. Hmm, it was really good. Sharp, but fruity, with a smooth texture that teased his throat all the way down. 

"I'm not obligated to answer your questions, or answer to you," Snape informed him, pouring a half-glass for himself. "This isn't going to be an equal relationship. You'd be wise to keep that in mind."

"Yes, s-- Severus," Harry caught himself. "But I'd feel better knowing."

"We're going to talk and drink for a while, and take care of some... ah, business matters, actually. Then we'll try a little spell I've developed just for you."

"Just for me?" Harry croaked, and swigged a larger swallow of the wine.

Snape gave him a disapproving look, but didn't comment. "Yes. The spell should make the touching... bearable for you, we'll say."

Another sip of wine, that one moderate. "Spells aren't actually a bad idea."

"We have to be careful with them," Snape explained. "Too many, or the wrong kinds, and we'll find the magic warring with _Podentes_ _._ But I don't think they'll interfere at present, when the rite's yet to be invoked."

Snape spent a few moments sipping his own wine, though to Harry's eye, the level in his glass barely changed. Then he passed a sheet of parchment across to Harry. "Make a list of your bloodline assets."

Harry's glass was almost empty by then. He felt... pleasantly fuzzy, although not so much that he didn't understand what the request implied. On the other hand, he actually didn't know what the _words_ implied. Having been raised by Muggles, he wasn't terribly cognizant of Wizarding legal terms. "Um, what exactly are bloodline assets?"

Snape raised one eyebrow, but detailed, "Anything in your possession that once belonged to anyone in your direct bloodline. Father, mother, grandfathers, grandmothers, and so forth."

Dipping a quill into a pot of ink, Harry leaned low over the table in front of the settee and scribbled out his vault number. "I don't know how much is in it." 

"You've never requested an accounting?"

Harry frowned. "I didn't know I could. Um, do you just ask the goblin who takes you in?"

"I recommend you request one by owl." Snape passed him another sheet of parchment. "Write it out, now."

Harry picked up the quill again, only to hesitate. He didn't even know how to begin. _Dear Gringotts?_

"What's the difficulty?" Snape snapped. "Are you reluctant for me to know just how much bloody money your sainted father left you? Well, I need to know, Potter, so I can be sure you aren't going to pull one of your usual brainless stunts, such as handing the Weasleys some of your bloodline assets. Never mind that _bad faith_ on your part will destroy our capacity to invoke _Podentes_ _!_ "

"The difficulty," Harry gritted, "is that I've never written a letter even to a Muggle bank, let alone a wizard one. What do I say?"

"You don't _say_ anything. You _write,_ " Snape sneered. "But as you're so ignorant, you may write what I _say_. Begin: _I, Harry James Potter, do hereby request a full accounting of the contents of my Gringotts vault. Please include any interest that will accrue up to and including June 17th of this year. As I am now of age to manage my own financial affairs, I request the results not be remitted through any third party who may have managed this vault in the past. Instead, please send the accounting under key using direct return-owl addressed simply to Keyed Recipient, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._ " Snape paused. "Now, sign your name."

"Why June 17th?" Harry questioned. 

"We'll invoke the rite then; it's one week after graduation, which should give you ample time to settle all your affairs. Have you any other vaults?" When Harry shook his head, Snape nodded, and interestingly enough, poured Harry another full glass of wine. "Fine, then. List the rest of your bloodline assets."

Harry sighed. "I think I might own the ruins of the house at Godric's Hollow, but I don't actually know. I mean, nobody's ever mentioned it."

Snape shrugged. "The deed will be likely be in your vault. We'll know when we get a response from the bank. Regardless, I'm certain you own the house. List it."

"All the times I've been to my vault, I've never seen anything in there but money," Harry murmured as he wrote it down.

"Concealment spells," Snape informed him. "Common for documents. Now, write down whatever else you have of your father's."

Harry paused. "I... I don't think there's anything more, really."

"Really," Snape dubiously commented. 

"Really," Harry insisted. "I mean, my aunt and uncle have given me a few things over the years; nothing you'd want, but they wouldn't count as bloodline assets by your definition."

"I believe there's the matter of a certain _invisibility cloak?_ "

Harry blanched. "You can't take that!"

"Worried you won't be able to sneak about with impunity?"

That wasn't it. "It's practically the only thing I have from my father!"

"It doesn't matter. I have to take it to invoke the spell," Snape sighed, running his fingers through his hair again. If Harry didn't know better, he might suspect Snape actually felt bad, but that wasn't possible. He'd been telling the headmaster for years to take Harry's cloak away. "Write it down. Then drink some more wine."

Harry did both with bad grace, but he did them. At least Snape didn't react with one of his ludicrous punishments and tell him to take off his sneakers or something. 

"All right, what else is there?" Snape went on. "There must be something else, if the cloak is _practically_ the only thing you have that belonged to James."

Harry had actually been thinking of the Marauders' Map when he'd tossed out that phrase, but he shook his head. "I don't think that one's actually a bloodline asset," he announced, deciding then and there that he'd give it to Ron for safekeeping. 

"If it is, and you don't give it to me--" 

"Yeah, yeah, I know!" Harry erupted. "The spell'll fail! I'll die! Voldemort'll rise ascendant and kill wizards left, right, and center!"

"Say _the Dark Lord,_ " Snape snarled. "Now!"

"The Dark Lord," Harry muttered. Crap, Snape wasn't going to leave him anything, was he? No part of what made him _himself_. But maybe that was the whole point of the fucking _Podentes_ curse.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of what might be a bloodline asset?" Snape menaced. "I do happen to have a good deal more experience than you when it comes to matters of property, not to mention magic."

"It belonged, equally I think, to four friends," Harry explained. "Two of whom are still living."

Snape's black eyes darkened as he descended into thought. "Your father and three others. I do believe I can fathom whom you mean."

"I'm sure you can," Harry muttered, grateful that Snape hadn't seen fit to list the Marauders. Years had passed, but he still really couldn't hear Sirius' name without having to fight back a choking feeling. Even thinking about him was difficult. Harry swallowed down the rest of his wine in a vain attempt to deaden the pain.

"How did you come into possession of this item?" Snape inquired.

A heavy sigh. "It was given to me."

"By Lupin?"

"Not at first, but then later, yes. He had... er, confiscated it, but when you got him fired, he gave it back to me."

"I did not get him fired; Lupin resigned."

"You made it so he'd have no choice _but_ to resign, so same fucking thing," Harry snapped.

"Considering he nearly made a meal of you and your idiot friends, I'd think you'd be able to view the matter with a little less emotion and a little more sense. However, sense has never been one of your strengths, so we'll say no more of Lupin. Now, as to this item: it's a bloodline asset. Write it down."

"If it belongs to anyone, it belongs to Remus!" Harry protested. 

"Who," Snape silkily insisted, "relinquished all claim when he _gave_ it to you."

"What about Wormtail?"

"Ah yes, _him_. Answer me truthfully, Harry. This bloodline asset we're discussing. Is it something mundane, or is it magical?"

"Magical," Harry reluctantly conceded.

"Did your father and these others create this magical item themselves, or was it something they purchased?"

"They created it," Harry gritted.

"I am very familiar with how that little group functioned," Snape informed him. "I guarantee you that Peter Pettigrew had little to nothing to do with any real efforts put forth. Potter, Black, and Lupin would have done all the work and been the _de facto_ owners of the results. And now you own it as bloodline-linked property. _Write it down!_ "

Harry gave a short, brief scream of frustration as he scratched out, _spare bit of parchment_ on the list.

"I sincerely hope you have no more possessions of your father's," Snape remarked. "This is singularly unpleasant." He sipped at his wine; that time the level changed, but not by much. "No? Then what about your mother? Do you have anything of hers?"

"Nothing," Harry grumbled.

"It's important to do this correctly," Snape reminded him, as if Harry didn't know it. "Nothing at all? A token, a piece of jewellery, something she wore at her wedding? Something Lily gave to her sister, who has passed it on to you?"

"There's nothing," Harry bitterly admitted. Snape looked a little surprised at that, or maybe put out, but Harry couldn't care less.

"Grandparents," he prompted.

"Nothing from them, either." 

"All right," the Potions Master nodded. "I suppose that completes your bloodline assets. This next part will be easier. Write down everything else you intend to give me at the invocation, but restrict the list to items imbued with magic. I can't accept any possessions unless they're bloodline-linked or magical."

Nothing like a little bit of dark humour to improve a mood, Harry thought as he laughed. "Why would I give you anything except what I have to?"

Snape crossed his legs at the ankle, a superior smirk on his face as he regarded the young man he would shortly acquire along with all the property listed. "Perhaps," he drawled, "because I can't allow you the use of things that I don't myself possess. I'd think as a minimum you would want me to take custody of your broom and your owl, not to mention your wand."

" _My wand,_ " Harry gasped. 

"I could use a spare wand," Snape idly mused, flicking a glance at Harry. "How long are you planning to hold your breath?"

Irritated, Harry exhaled. "You don't mean to keep my wand from me."

"And there I thought you might die of asphyxia before you realised as much," Snape mocked. "Do you not want it, after all? You've yet to mark it down."

Harry scowled, and wrote down _wand, Firebolt, Hedwig, photo album, broken mirror._ No matter how long he thought, there was really nothing else. He blew on the ink to set it, though of course a spell would have done just as well, and passed the list to Snape.

"Broken mirror?" he questioned. "Is it magical?"

"Yes."

"What does it do?"

"Nothing any longer. It's broken," Harry sneered. He set his empty wine glass down with a thud, part of him wishing he could throw it at something, instead. 

Snape poured him a third glass, though by then, he had to have known that Harry's head was reeling. "I thought you didn't want me to pass out," Harry protested.

"You're having trouble relaxing."

A bitter laugh scaled Harry's throat. "Brilliant, aren't you? I can tell I'm going to go straight from strung up to unconscious, so the liquor's really probably wasted on the likes of me."

"Why the broken mirror, Harry?" Snape pressed.

"I don't like the regular kind," Harry blatantly lied, not caring for once about the sodding _spell_. Snape was full of it, anyway. The rite wasn't even in force, yet. Harry didn't have to do every damned thing Snape said.

"You don't like the regular kind," Snape blankly repeated.

"Yeah. You have a problem with that?"

"I'm beginning to think that excess alcohol consumption makes you a bit belligerent."

"No, it's sitting around cataloguing things to give you that makes me belligerent! Or maybe it's sitting here wondering just what you have in mind for the second half of the day's festivities!"

Snape levitated the list across the room and out through an open door, then said, "We'll enjoy our lunch next, I think."

"Why won't you _tell_ me what you're planning to do to me?" Harry cried, frustrated.

"Because you need to learn that promises can't bind me," Snape simply explained.

"I'm not asking for promises!"

"You are, though I'm beginning to think you don't realise it. At any rate, stop worrying about things you can't change, Harry. Come, it's time we ate lunch."

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 16, 1998 ---- 12:35 p.m. **

Snape didn't exactly have a dining room in his quarters, but he did have a small round table set into an alcove of what appeared to be a reading room. Or private library, perhaps; every wall was lined floor to ceiling with well-dusted tomes. A chandelier sporting real wax candles illuminated the desk below it; Harry saw that the list of his possessions had settled to the top of a pile of papers neatly stacked on one corner. He hurriedly looked away and directed his attention back to the chandelier. 

"Doesn't wax drip on you when you're trying to work?"

Snape stared at him. "You really haven't yet become accustomed to wizardry, have you?"

So the candles were spelled, Harry thought. He could have just said so.

Without being asked, Harry walked across to the small table, pulled out a chair, and seated himself. He felt hot and icky, and wondered if it was the wine, or if Snape's warming charms just made his quarters too hot for normal people. Probably, Harry thought caustically, Snape didn't have many guests, so he didn't realise he was roasting them alive. 

The moment Snape was seated, food and drink blossomed on the table, along with utensils and plates. Harry just stared at it listlessly, though by all rights he should be hungry. He'd been nervous all through breakfast, and hadn't wanted to eat. But dining à deux with Snape was doing another number on his nerves, and he thought he might become ill if he forced food down his constricted throat.

"I'm certain you know how to eat," Snape remarked as he tucked into a perfectly-risen cheese soufflé, but still, the green-eyed young man made no effort to comply with the thinly veiled hint. Finally, Snape set his fork down with a clatter. "What's wrong?"

"You have to ask?" Harry couldn't help it; he started laughing uncontrollably.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! You can't even tolerate wine!" 

"Sure I can. It's the company I can't tolerate," Harry shot back, still chortling.

"That is not funny," Snape snapped. "Do you think a bond with you is enjoyable for me? Do you believe _Podentes_ is some sort of joke?"

Harry was about to reply that it was a cosmic joke, and a damned bad one at that, but instead heard himself admit, "Sorry. I didn't eat much at breakfast. That's probably why the wine's affecting me so strongly."

"How much is _not much?_ " Snape sneered.

"Uh, might have managed some juice."

"You need a _keeper,_ " the other man raged. "Why didn't you say something when I offered you the wine?"

Harry looked straight at him, feeling oddly lucid for a moment, though he knew it had to be an illusion; he was still pretty looped. "Because I wanted it, Severus," he admitted. "I wanted scotch, if you recall. Anything to make the rest of everything... easier."

Snape shot him an odd glance. "I know you don't like not knowing what's coming, but... there are reasons for me to act this way. You have to trust me to get you through the invocation, which will be... somewhat difficult at times. This today, my not explaining in advance what sorts of touching I had planned on... it's more of the same."

Harry's eyes felt abnormally bright in his skull. "But I don't trust you," he announced, and then at Snape's sharp jerking motion, he explained, "Oh, I'd trust you to save my life, you must know that much from reading my journal. And it's not lost on me either that this whole _Podentes_ deal, bizarre as it is, is really just another entry on the list of times you've been there for me. But I _don't_ trust you not to humiliate me, or hurt me, or undermine what little _me_ I've been able to separate from the Boy-Who-Lived. You've spent too many class sessions wallowing in your ability to cut me down to size, and frankly, a little liquor isn't going to change how I feel about trust and you."

With that, he picked up his fork and half-heartedly poked at his own soufflé, which had stayed magically high and hot until he touched it. One poke though, and it deflated like a balloon, which was pretty much how Harry was feeling. He didn't even notice when Snape left the table, but he was hard pressed to ignore the teacup that was thrust beneath his nose. It was filled with a frothy white potion that reminded him of breakers hitting the seashore, a sight he'd seen a long, long time ago.

"Hangover cure," Snape explained, and Harry drank it. Only after it was down his throat did the Potions Master add, "And sleeping draught. Unless I miss my guess, you stayed up all night worrying. You're really being very... stupid, about this whole matter."

"Big fucking surprise," Harry muttered, already feeling the pull of the draught. He wasn't even sure he could make it to the Floo, let alone all the way from the headmaster's quarters back to the Tower, but he dragged himself upright and managed to mumble some vague good-bye to Snape.

"Go rest on the settee," his teacher instructed, shaking his head. "You're to stay here with me all day. We'll start over again after you eat dinner and feel better."

"Won't feel better," Harry groaned, stumbling out of the reading room and back into the room he thought of as Snape's parlour. 

A strong hand was there to keep him from falling as he tumbled onto the antique couch.

"Yes, you will," Snape's deep voice said, the words sounding like a promise. But that couldn't be right. There weren't going to be any promises, Harry remembered. The spell wouldn't allow them. Harry closed his eyes on a groan and let the potion waft him away from Snape.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 16, 1998 ---- 1:05 p.m. **

Severus went back and finished his lunch, only to realise with some amount of irritation that Harry's uneaten portion, sitting there across from him, rather killed his own appetite. It wasn't so much the sight of the food, as what it represented: a young man, who would in short order have to become his lover, yet who was so horror-struck at the thought of touching him that it literally put him off both food and sleep. 

An _attractive_ young man who wanted to keep a broken mirror because he didn't like the regular kind. Was it the scar that bothered him so much? Severus had been aware for years that Harry didn't particularly like it; why else would he wear such a messy hairstyle, if not to obscure it? Albus had even told him that Harry's hair would grow back overnight if cut, his magic reaching out to help him keep the scar well hidden.

His soufflé all at once acquired the texture of ground lacewings. Severus spit his bite into his napkin and waved his wand to summon a house-elf to clean away the meal.

Now, to business. He'd given Harry's list only the most cursory glance earlier, the _broken mirror_ entry startling him so much that he hadn't paid much attention to the other items. All in all, the list comprised a rather sad testament to nearly eighteen years of life. Harry really had almost nothing of his parents'. Gold Albus had safeguarded, the cloak Albus had passed on, a few wizarding photos, and a _spare bit of parchment_ Lupin had confiscated and then returned? That last entry was really quite puzzling in of itself. Harry had fought rather valiantly to keep it off the list, obviously not wanting to relinquish it to him. Now, why would that be? Just because it had been his father's? If that were the case, Harry would have argued more about the invisibility cloak.

Besides, the wording put him in mind of an incident from several years earlier. _Spare bit of parchment..._ It took a moment for him to place the phrase, but Severus wasn't a Potions Master for nothing. He had a phenomenal memory. Potter's head had been seen in Hogsmeade, that was it, though the boy didn't have permission to leave the castle grounds. Severus had caught him coming back, and ordered him to turn out his pockets, and he'd found a folded parchment that sang to him with strange magic, though it was completely blank. _Spare bit of parchment,_ Potter had claimed, but when Severus had attempted to ascertain its function, insults had scrolled themselves across the sheet. And Lupin had taken it. Confiscated it, if Harry was to be believed, but in the end he'd given it back.

Severus didn't delude himself that Harry would be any more forthcoming now about this bit of parchment. Probably, even reminding him of obedience and _Podentes_ wouldn't loosen his tongue, so there wasn't anything to be gained from an interrogation. Worse than that, there was a great deal to lose. He did need Harry to become more comfortable with him, and in short order. The inquisition over his possessions had been necessary, but highly unpleasant. Now that it was done, it was better to leave the subject behind. Severus nodded to himself. Yes, yes. It was enough that the young man had owned up to the bloodline asset despite all his reservations about letting Severus have it.

All the same, though, Severus was looking forward to a lengthy examination of this _spare bit of parchment._ He actually rubbed his hands together in anticipation. 

Getting back to business, Severus sealed Harry's Gringotts' letter in an envelope and summoned his owl, telling her to take the letter to Gardholf, the goblin who very competently administered Snape's own vault. Then he spelled Harry's list of assets to display only upon hearing his or Harry's voice, and tucked it away in a warded drawer of his desk. That done, he went to check on Harry.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 16, 1998 ---- 2:14 p.m. **

The young man was sound asleep on the settee, one knee splayed slightly outward as he lay on his stomach, his head pillowed on his arms. A suggestive position, to be sure, but Severus tried not to dwell too much on that. Harry was upset enough already about the prospect of any intimacy whatsoever with his hated old Potions Master. Severus couldn't help but grimace as he settled into his favourite chair and watched the gentle rise and fall of Harry's back. 

_Cool disinterest,_ he'd decided. That was the correct note to strike, if he didn't want Harry to run screaming from the dungeons. Not that Harry Potter would really run screaming from anything; more likely, he'd get awkward and antagonistic, which wasn't what they needed.

Besides, cool disinterest had the advantage of being easily believed. He'd never particularly liked the Potter boy, and for vast stretches of time had actually hated him. The last two years, though, hadn't been _quite_ so full of constant disaster as the first five, and his anger had slowly mellowed to something closer to... well, just honest disdain. It had probably helped that after Sirius Black's death, Harry had seemed to _finally_ grasp the idea that actions had consequences, sometimes very bad ones. He had yet to make such a vast mistake as that one, again.

And as for this liaison the prophecy had orchestrated.... well, Severus knew he'd be lying if he claimed it held no interest whatsoever for him though it certainly didn't _appeal_ in the strictest sense of the word. No doubt about it, Harry Potter was too young for him, and too Gryffindor, and far too celebrated. The connection was ludicrous by any standard known to wizard, and that wasn't even counting the significant problem that the young man was still a student. Not his student any longer, true, but Severus had never been one to let pretty legalisms cloud his moral code. Harry was a student, and he was a teacher, and that meant the demands of _Podentes_ were worse than objectionable, they were actually obscene.

Unfortunately, they were also unassailable. 

Severus had discussed the matter with Albus, and the most he'd been able to negotiate was an agreement that he and Harry need not formalize their bond until after Harry graduated. Hence the date of June 17th. Severus' vociferous arguments that any _preliminaries_ be delayed as well had met with nothing but offers of tea and sweets from the wily headmaster. Albus wouldn't hear of it. Severus was to get the young man ready well before the 17th, so the invocation could go well, and that was the end of that. 

The worst part was knowing deep down that Albus was right, Severus thought. Going into that invocation with Harry still nervous to be so much as _touched_ was a recipe for disaster. Harry didn't completely appreciate the fact, Severus thought, that the invocation could fail if the parties were reluctant. Like the foolish Gryffindor he was, he probably thought they could simply do the ritual over if a problem arose. Interaxial magic wasn't that simple, though. Severus decided he'd better explain that to Harry, not that he expected the young man to understand the principles involved.

Harry shifted in his sleep, moaning ever so slightly, his fingers curling to caress the soft green velvet of the settee, and Severus thought rather sourly that he was most likely dreaming of the Granger girl. He hadn't been fooled by Harry's playacting in class. The two were sleeping together, and right under Ronald Weasley's nose, but Harry had enough _hero_ in him to want to preserve the girl's reputation, hence all that _love from afar_ nonsense he'd spouted out in Potions. Well, Severus reflected, Potter had better only be dreaming of her, and not indulging his appetites any longer. He'd just _better_. 

It was rather nice, Severus reflected after a while longer, to have some time to study Harry without the young man's bloody attitude getting in the way. In his own way, he was really quite attractive, though Severus had never given it much thought until the prophecy had forced him to. He didn't _do_ that, didn't look at students with anything but a detached, professional air. Knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd have to bed the young man--and not just once or twice, either--had changed all that. His initial reaction had been fury, and quite possibly a disgust just as strong as the young man's, because after all, this was Harry bloody Potter, bane of his existence. _And_ a student besides, too young for him, definitely too Gryffindor, and all that.

But sometime after getting Harry's letter full of questions (a few of them even well-read and intelligent, too,) he'd accepted his fate, as it were, and stopped complaining loudly about it to Albus. And then he'd looked at the young man, really _looked,_ studied him in a way he'd never have done if not goaded to it by circumstance. 

His first chilling realization was that while a younger version of Harry had indeed looked a great deal like James, the seventeen-year's features had been tempered by his mother's genes. If Severus looked hard, he could still find James Potter in that face, but if he didn't look for it, it wasn't there. Worse still, Lily Potter had been absolutely stunning. Her cheekbones and eyes, blended into Harry's, didn't make the young man stunningin the same way; he certainly wasn't beautiful. Because to Severus, _beautiful_ implied an element of the feminine. There was nothing of that in Harry Potter.

What he was, though, was _exquisite,_ even with all that messy hair.

His colouring, for one. Green and black, Severus' favourite colours, and practically his House colours as well. His skin, lightly tanned... and his form. Ah, exquisite didn't begin to describe it. Harry would never be tall, but his body was perfectly proportioned. You'd never guess it under all those robes, but Quidditch had conditioned him into a lean, lithe tiger with broad shoulders and neatly tapered hips. The primary reason Severus had told Harry to leave his robes off was because, quite simply, he enjoyed the view. 

It was almost a shame that conscience had driven Severus to explain the punishment he'd hit upon for surliness. Perhaps he should have delayed explanations longer, he mused... just long enough to have gotten Harry out of his shirt, as well, instead of merely making him unbutton it. But no... Severus didn't actually regret his clemency. 

On a purely physical level, it would be no hardship at all to take him to bed, but for Severus, that very realization was daunting and exhilarating all at once. Because there was one problem, one very serious problem. 

Harry wasn't going to welcome his attentions. 

But he had to learn to, or the _Podentes_ exchange would be a waste of time.

So... _cool disinterest._ Harry had that Gryffindor bravery, that compulsion to risk life and limb to save others. If he could think of his life with Severus in those terms, he could probably get through it. But if he started to believe he was being _used_ , things were likely to fall apart fast. It wouldn't do, Severus decided, to admit his attraction to Harry. Because Harry wouldn't understand, wouldn't believe that the entire _Podentes_ spell wasn't some plot hatched to hurt and humiliate him. He'd already accused Severus of as much, and that was _without_ knowing the full truth.

 _Cool disinterest..._ Severus was going to make it his watchword. 

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 16, 1998 ---- 4:52 p.m. **

When Harry blinked his way back into the land of the living, habit had him automatically reaching for his bangs and smoothing them down over his scar. Only after that was done did he come awake enough to recognise where he was. 

_Still at Snape's. And now I have to get through yet another meal with him. And after that..._

Harry shuddered from head to toe, a chill sweeping him though Snape kept his quarters very warm, indeed.

The Potions Master glanced up from the sheaf of parchments he had propped up on one knee, and laid his quill aside. Harry fumbled for his glasses, saw red ink slashed across black, and surmised that Snape had been marking essays, no doubt applying his cruel wit to the thorny problem of eviscerating with words every student who hadn't been sorted into Slytherin.

Harry cleared his throat. "Could I have some water?"

Snape raised an eyebrow at him, and smoothly sneered, "I refuse to believe that you've been down in my rooms every evening for a week and have failed to notice where my kitchen is."

Harry sat up, violently shook his head to try to clear it, too, and retorted, "Oh, am I free to just make myself at home, then, _Severus?_ Pardon me for not realizing."

"Yes," Snape said, aligning the pages of parchment until the stack was perfectly neat and uniform. He set the whole thing aside. 

"Yes?" Harry echoed, not following.

"Yes, you must make yourself at home. Surely it's dawned on you that this will shortly _be_ your home, Harry."

"Yeah, well dungeons creep me out," Harry rudely muttered.

"A pity."

Something about the uncaring tone and words just rubbed Harry the wrong way. "Fuck off," he distinctly growled.

Snape smiled. A cold, almost sadistic smile, Harry thought. Like he was almost glad Harry had been so rude. Like now, he was going to get even.

"Harry," he purred, the words soaked through with menace. "I warned you not to take that tone with me--"

"Nah, you didn't," Harry objected. "You warned me not to ooze with sarcasm and pretend to fawn over your sacred commands."

"All the same, I think a little demonstration is in order," Snape smoothly put in. "To help you remember yourself. Because after we invoke, an attitude like that might well sever my powers from yours in a significant way. It might take months to build the exchange back up. So..." he paused, then delivered the edict. "Take off that idiotic sweatshirt."

Harry chewed his lip. "We aren't bound yet, Severus," he pointed out. "And frankly, I think this _you have to practice_ business is pretty much garbage."

"You think you can feel pleasure at my hand, already?"

"Of course not!" Harry snapped. "That's a different matter! If the invocation really requires that, then I suppose we do have to _practice_. But this obedience business is really just crap. I'll put up with it later, when I have to."

"You'll get used to it now," Snape softly threatened, moving toward where Harry sat on the settee. "You need to be able to follow my direction for the invocation; it's every bit as important as your being able to take pleasure in my touch."

"I'll be able to just start doing it when I need to," Harry insisted, drawing back as Snape leaned forward. 

"Is this your approach to Quidditch, too? You don't need to practice?"

"That's different. Catching the snitch is wicked hard, and..."

"And you think obeying me will be easy?"

"Shite," Harry softly swore, whipping his sweatshirt off and panting slightly with anger. "I hate it when you're right. There, satisfied?"

"Hardly," Snape said in an odd tone. "You're... sweaty."

"Yeah, well it is called a _sweat_ shirt," Harry lightly sneered, waving his hands in agitation. "Besides, you keep your damned rooms hotter than a sauna. I'd almost think you were trying to get me out of my clothes! It's like a furnace in here!"

"I didn't realise you were uncomfortable," Snape remarked.

"Like you would effing care," Harry muttered, and at once expected another punishment. Maybe a demand for him to take off his belt... When Snape replied, though, Harry realised his own stupidity. There were plenty of ways to punish him besides making him doff his clothes, after all. And Snape was... unpredictable. Harry had no idea what to expect. 

"Come with me," his teacher directed, whirling away. Somehow he made it look elegant and intimidating all at once, even without his robes.

"If you want to punish me," Harry protested, "you can do it right here."

"What I want can't be done here," Snape returned, not bothering to look back. "Don't make things even worse, Harry. Come with me."

Harry made a sarcastic little gagging sound, but then like the slave he was shortly to become, he did as he'd been told, and followed Snape towards a closed door. It opened at Snape's approach, but didn't reveal the torture chamber Harry was just about expecting. 

Or maybe, Harry thought, it did.

Snape was leading him into a bedroom.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 16, 1998 ---- 5:04 p.m. **

Snape led Harry straight through the bedroom and into the bathroom beyond, and simply said, "Take a shower."

"Take a shower?" Harry gasped, weak with relief. He'd been expecting a hex or something, or maybe, given the prophecy and all, a good deal more _touching_ than he'd be able to stand. "That's it? That's my punishment? Take a _shower?_ "

"What made you think I was going to punish you?"

Harry frowned at Snape's sincere expression. "Well, I was rude."

"You make a habit of it," Snape observed, folding his hands across his chest. "It's my hope that you'll feel less compelled to vent your spleen once you're more comfortable."

"I really can't foresee ever being comfortable with you, Professor," Harry shakily admitted. He wasn't trying to be rude, not that time. It was just the truth.

"Severus," Snape corrected, shaking his head. "And I know you can't foresee that. All I meant for today was that you might be in a better frame of mind after your shower. I didn't realise the dungeons seemed so warm to you. I'll see to correcting that." Drawing his wand from a trouser pocket, he transfigured a bar of soap into a crystal tumbler engraved in gold with some sort of crest, then set it down on the granite counter flanking a sink. "You were thirsty, as I recall."

When Harry picked the glass up, he couldn't help but quirk a smile. "Gryffindor, Professor?" he asked, tracing the crest with a ragged fingernail.

" _Severus._ "

Harry sighed, and tried it. "Gryffindor, Severus?" 

"Well, we won't mix up our glasses, that way," Snape explained, waving toward a similar tumbler bearing the Slytherin crest.

"Right," Harry said, trying to get used to that. A glass reserved for his use, in Severus Snape's bathroom. He was still shirtless, but somehow less nervous about that, now. Maybe it was the surreal, dreamlike quality of being in Snape's bathroom to begin with. _Maybe it's an after-effect of that Potion...._ Whatever had caused it, Harry knew himself marginally more at ease. He glanced around the rest of the spacious room, and frowned. "Hmm. No tub, eh?"

"There's one in wizardspace," Snape commented, and waved his wand in a few precise arcs. Harry saw the back wall split apart to reveal what was more a small pool than a bathtub. Set into the stone floor, it was surfaced in ebony and looked easily deep enough to stand in. It didn't have dozens of taps like the bathtub in the prefects' bathroom; instead, the sides were lined with a shallow channel in which grew a profusion of green and silver ferns. Harry supposed you had to fill the thing using magic.

"Um... can I?" He gave a vague wave toward the wizardspace.

"Make yourself at home," Snape said, the words significant in a way Harry couldn't fail to miss. 

"Okay," he agreed, and waited. Snape just stood there. Harry didn't know if the man was waiting too, or what he might be waiting _for,_ but finally said in some frustration, "Are you planning to watch?" He moved his hands to his belt.

Snape gave a soft snort. "Don't forget to spell your clothes clean." With that, he accioed Harry's sweatshirt and tossed it at him.

"Oh, I get to wear clothes again, afterwards?" The words were out before Harry realised he was sniping. Again.

"Don't tempt me," Snape growled. The entrance to the wizardspace closed behind him as he stalked out, and Harry suddenly grabbed the granite counter to keep himself upright as the room around him shimmered slightly as though trying to vanish back out of existence. But then it stabilized, and he drew a bracing breath along with his wand, and set about filling the tub with beautifully cool water.


	11. Chapter 11

 

 

** Saturday, May 16, 1998 ---- 6:10 p.m. **

"Wow, it really is a lot less warm," Harry remarked as he sat down at the small dining table again. "Thanks."

"You feel more comfortable?" Snape asked, passing a hand across the single squat candle that now sat in the centre of the table. It flared to life with an emerald green flame. 

"Yeah, well I feel less overheated," Harry clarified. "It'd be quite a stretch of imagination to say I feel all that _comfortable_ with you _._ "

"Thank you for elucidating your discomfort with such precision," Snape replied. Harry thought his tone rather sour, which struck him as strange. It wasn't any secret how Harry felt about the demands of the bloody prophecy.

Food winked into existence on the table, but instead of dishes of everything at once like in the Great Hall, nothing appeared save two plates of salad. Even they didn't appear terribly substantial. Just a few torn leaves of romaine, a radish carved to look like...something--Harry wasn't sure what-- and a couple of spears of chilled asparagus marinated in a sauce that reminded Harry of vinegar and garlic all at once. Acutely aware that he'd been rude enough already, he managed not to sigh at the sparse quantities. He could always sneak out to the kitchens later and get more, though it suddenly came to him with a pang that there'd be no more little freedoms like that, not after he had to hand his father's cloak over to his father's nemesis.

Well, as Aunt Petunia would say, no use crying over spilt milk, even if in this case, it was more like milk yet to be spilt. 

Taking his lead from Snape, Harry unfurled a cloth napkin onto his lap and picked up the longest fork out of the three he had at his place setting. It struck him as a bit bizarre to have that many to eat a simple salad, but these were Snape's rooms, and he was a guest, so he was hardly going to question it. When his teacher used a knife to cut his asparagus spears into neat little chunks, Harry realised how uncouth he must look, stabbing them with the fork and stuffing them whole into his mouth. Well, so what? It wasn't his fault he wasn't used to fancy salads with asparagus in them, for pity's sake! For most of his life, he'd been lucky if he got enough to eat, full stop. Although, if Snape ate like this most nights, Harry glumly realised, he'd have to adjust to starvation rations again come June 17th. Not that that would be such a shock; he'd done the same thing every summer since he'd started at Hogwarts. He'd just try to eat extra in the Great Hall between now and then, although given the timetable Snape had set, he supposed that Saturdays would continue to be lean times. 

The salad was gone by then, and Harry was sternly lecturing himself to get his mind off food, even as he reflexively licked the last traces of vinaigrette from his fork. He noticed Snape staring at him, which was good for once, as it reminded him not to completely give into his hunger and lick the dressing from the plate, too. Though he did dip his fork into it once more, as he just couldn't resist.

 _Get your mind off food..._ Good advice. It had helped him a lot at the Dursleys'. Well, sometimes at least. "When do I start learning the incantation?" he thought to ask. "Um, the one for the invocation ceremony?"

Snape wiped at the corner of his mouth and brushed his hair back over his shoulder before he drawled, "I think I could have reasoned out which incantation you meant, Harry."

Why did the man always go out of his way to make him feel about two feet tall? Stupid question, as Harry knew the answer already. For one, it was pretty much Snape's way with everyone except the headmaster, and for two, it gave him perverse joy to inflict said treatment on Harry, who had always represented childhood humiliations to Snape. Looking in the Potions Master's pensieve during his fifth year hadn't been a stroke of genius on one level, Harry reflected, since it had indirectly led to Sirius' death. On another level entirely, however, it had finally shown Harry just why Snape had always hated him. And strange as it was, that had helped Harry, it really had. Being hated for no reason was much worse than understanding why.

"Well?" he prompted. "The incantation?"

Snape twirled a bit of romaine onto his fork. "When would you like to start learning it?"

"How should I know? You said it was really hard, but I haven't seen it; I don't know how difficult it will be. What makes it so daunting, anyway? Is it just really long?"

"It's in archaic Hindustani."

Harry gulped a little bit of water. "Not Latin? What about Caligula?"

"As far as anyone can tell, the spell originates in the Kashmir region; that's in--"

"India, though disputed by Pakistan," Harry interrupted. "I'm not completely stupid, though I've no doubt you'll never realise the fact."

Snape gave an eloquent shrug. "At any rate, the best thinkers have concluded that Caligula must have had a complement of wizards from the east coaching him. No one believes the incantations were in _his_ language, though the rite came to be so associated with him that's its been referred to by a corrupted Latin name ever since."

"Well, I can memorize the odd bit of Hindustani," Harry insisted.

"I would certainly hope so," Snape returned, setting his fork down across his plate.

At once, both their salads vanished and were replaced by platters of grilled sole on fluffy rice.

"Oh!" Harry said, in a tone it would be hard to misinterpret.

Snape glanced up, his eyes a bit amused. "You thought we were eating light? No. I simply prefer my meals served in a civilized manner." As Harry began to devour his fish with obvious relish, Snape's slight smile faltered. "You're quite hungry."

"Well, I basically skipped breakfast and lunch, if you recall," Harry said, defensive, because of course at the Dursleys' comments like that were always critical in nature.

"You weren't going to say anything, were you?" Snape accused.

Harry scoffed. "Look, you make it pretty clear my manners are atrocious, but even I know that when you're a guest, you eat what you're served and say please and thank you."

"When have I ever said that your manners are atrocious?"

Harry glanced up, then went back to looking at his food. The rice was really good. Bright yellow, and flavoured with some elusive hint of something indescribable. "You haven't said so, but I can tell. I can read you."

When he glanced up, Snape's expression was about as shuttered as it had ever been. "Are you speaking of Legilimency?" he asked coldly.

"Right, wandless Legilimency," Harry drawled. "And me barely able to Occlude. That makes a lot of sense. I'm talking about instinct, that's all. Intuition. Or maybe the way you just _stare_ at every bite I eat. I've seen you doing it in the Great Hall, too."

It didn't seem possible, but Snape stiffened even more. "Ah. Well, your table manners are rather revolting at times; I can't deny that. But it is not true that you _barely_ Occlude."

"That's not what you said the last time you kicked me out of your office. You know, right before Christmas of sixth year. I think your exact words were, _Get out, you worthless waste of space, you're barely passable now and that's about as much as we can expect from the boy wonder who's thinks he's above such petty activities as practicing anything except Quidditch. I hope you've learned your lesson and actually bother to clear your mind before you sleep, because the Dark Lord knows how to get to you now, doesn't he? All he has to do is make you think a loved one is in danger, never mind that letting yourself be tricked like that will put your loved ones in danger. As you should have learned last spring but no doubt didn't, you're not the only wizard in the world, nor the only one that matters, but with our luck that damned prophecy will inflate your head until all the Dark Lord has to do to puncture it is stretch forth a thought---"_

Harry only stopped speaking when Snape raised his voice.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 16, 1998 ---- 6:29 p.m. **

"That's quite enough!" Severus roared over the recitation, when it finally became clear that Harry could likely detail his diatribe all evening long. His first reaction was sheer shock that he'd really had quite so much to say on the topic of Harry's failings. His second, a reluctant acknowledgement that yes, memory served; he really had said every word. And his third reaction, laced in that cool disinterest that he needed more than ever:

"Well. If you can memorize all that, I expect the incantation will pose you little trial."

Severus went back to fluffing his rice, more than a little disturbed that Harry had been able to detect his thoughts regarding his table manners. He certainly hadn't said anything out loud about the matter, and in the interests of amicability, had even managed not to grimace. If Harry had sensed his distaste despite all that, it meant he was far more perceptive than Severus had realised.

And _that_ meant that he was quite likely to realise that Severus found him physically attractive.

Unless Severus was very careful, of course. Otherwise Harry would end up feeling even more ill-used than he did already, and that would have negative implications for the power exchange. Though no doubt, Severus inwardly sneered, the noble _Gryffindor_ would still try to go through with it. The virtue of self-sacrifice and all that rot. Witness the way the young man was willing to starve rather than ask for food!

"This isn't _Oliver Twist,_ " he bitingly announced. "No one's going to toss you out on your ear if you ask for more to eat."

"I was trying to be _polite,_ " Harry began to stress, but Severus wasn't having any of it.

"You accomplished the opposite. Have you any idea how discourteous it is for you to imply that I would begrudge you adequate nutrition?"

At that question, Harry got a strange look on his face. Then he looked away. "Things like that don't occur to me," he said, returning his attention to his meal. "Anyway, you were the one who wrote up all that stuff about how you don't have to give a flip about my basic needs, how you can kill me without so much as a by your leave. How do you expect me to feel?"

"I expect you to be sensible." Severus poured himself a glass of Chardonnay, though given what had happened earlier, he had instructed the house elves to bring Harry only pumpkin juice. "I wrote that I had no intention of abusing you."

"Yeah, but you can't _promise_ anything." Harry stabbed at his fish with a little more force than was appropriate. "Besides, the damned spell might make you do any number of awful things to me, that was clear enough."

"That will likely not happen at all, and will certainly not happen if you submit as you should."

"Right," Harry drawled, swigging his juice. "Still, the parallel with _Cruciatus_ was very instructive, and I've seen you inflict it on people upwards of a dozen times, so by now you must have a fairly well developed affinity for causing pain."

"I do not--"

"Is it going to be _Cruciatus,_ then?" Harry interrupted. "For the invocation, when you have to make me feel pain?"

Severus felt himself pale. "No, certainly not!"

Harry finished off his rice, glaring the whole while. "Well, I know you do a really good job with it, and since you were so careful to point it out, I thought you were dropping me a broad hint. _Severus._ "

"I was trying," Severus tightly gritted, "to explain the Dark Arts and why we need to treat _Podentes_ with a healthy measure of respect!"

"All right, so I misunderstood," Harry admitted, setting his fork down in the centre of his platter, the motion studied and deliberate. "Hmm. Is there not a third course, or does it only work when you do it?"

"The house-elves aren't accustomed to me having much company at meals," Severus absently answered, his mind still reeling. The young man had been expecting _Cruciatus_ during the invocation? He didn't know what appalled him more, the thought itself, or Harry's apparent acceptance of it. Of course, Harry had endured the curse before, but surely that should make him less at ease at such a prospect, rather than more?

"So what will it be?" Harry pressed. "For the pain?"

"I hadn't actually decided." Severus placed his own fork down, heralding the arrival of small portions of chocolate mousse. "I thought it should be something to draw blood, as I'll need some to complete the Potion I have to drink."

Harry frowned. "The last time someone cut me open for ceremonial reasons, it was..."

"To raise the Dark Lord. Yes, I know. It's probably no consolation, but I will only need a few drops. At any rate, don't start fantasizing something shockingly violent. That's not what _Podentes_ is about."

"What about what casting _Cruciatus_ so many times has done to your... interests?" Harry carefully phrased the question. "I mean... look, normally I wouldn't ask something so personal, but you're the one who wrote that I was silly to think pain couldn't be erotic. So, um, is that what you enjoy now, when you take someone to bed? You ah... hurt them?"

"No," Severus tersely answered, his appetite vanishing. That Harry could think such things was distressing, but probably to be expected, in the circumstances, which included not only visions of Death Eater meetings, but also seven years of Potions lessons. Severus was well aware that his classroom demeanour made him appear quite the accomplished sadist.

"So you're claiming that casting an Unforgivable repeatedly _hasn't_ changed you for the worse?" Harry openly scoffed.

"I'm sure it has."

"But not in that way, you mean?" Harry surmised. "Then how?"

Severus scowled. "I did not wish to cast the curse, though circumstances compelled me to dredge up the requisite... willingness." Rather like Harry would have to do with _Podentes_. "I think casting it has rendered me angrier, more bitter."

"But you're sure you don't confuse pain with pleasure," Harry stated, though his tone was still half a question.

"Have you eaten enough?" Severus abruptly asked, patiently waiting until Harry nodded. Then he rose to his feet, the candlelight casting resolve across his features. "Good. You've been quite focussed on pain for the past few minutes, but if you recall, the point of your visit here today was supposed to be pleasure. I think we should begin. You can tell me if I blur the line between the two."

Never one to quail in fear, Harry stood up too, though he muttered, "I think I'd really much prefer _Cruciatus._ " His voice rose. "Um, you said before... nothing too physical, didn't you? I mean, not until later."

"So I did. Come out to the sitting room, Harry."

"I don't want to kiss you--"

"Harry. Do be quiet. It will be all right." 

With that, Severus turned and walked out of his private library, relying on Harry to follow.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 16, 1998 ---- 7:15 p.m. **

Harry thought he'd never be able to make his feet move, because try as he might, he couldn't seem to just saunter into Snape's parlour to start in on this... whatever it was. He didn't even know what to call it. 

The problem wasn't that Snape was so very frightening. The man was sarcastic, rude, and harsh, and intimidating as hell, but he didn't actually scare Harry. It was more the context here, the expectation that _Podentes_ was putting on him.

Or not only on him, actually. Snape was just as caught in the prophecy's trap as he was, and he hadn't made any secret that he disliked the prospect. Maybe that was what finally helped Harry to start moving away from that small table. Funny that the thought should help, but it did: at least Harry wasn't in this alone.

"Ah, there you are," Snape remarked when Harry stumbled out into the parlour. Surprisingly, he said nothing of how long it had taken Harry to walk a few short steps, though the curl at his upper lip was probably doing his talking for him. Harry thought of saying something flip, like _I got lost_ , but decided that would only make him sound as stupid as Snape always called him.

There was no light in the dungeon now, save an odd fire blazing in the hearth. The flames, a pale yellow instead of orange, didn't emanate much heat. Harry held his palms toward it, puzzled, and glanced about at the shadows flickering across the tapestries all around. 

"I lit it only for light," Snape commented.

Well, the candle flame had been green, so evidently there was more than one kind of fire. Sort of strange that he'd been at a wizarding school for seven years without realizing that, Harry thought. On the other hand, though, maybe your average wizard didn't mess around with flames as much as a Potions Master might. "Um, okay," he said, acutely aware that he really did sound brainless a lot of the time when he was around Snape. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "So. Are you finally going to tell me the plan, here?"

Snape gestured toward the floor before the hearth. "Sit facing the fire."

"That's the plan?"

Even in the dim firelight, he could see the irritated glint sparking to life in those furnace black eyes. "The _plan_ ," Snape sneered, "as I recall explaining to you several dozen times already, is for you to learn to _do as I say_. There will be many times when I will not be explaining every last detail in advance, not the least because it tends to ruin the mood and make it even harder for me to drag you through what is supposed to be an exercise in pleasure!"

 _Touchy, touchy..._ "Well, I'm sorry it's such an imposition!" Harry spat, though he wasn't, really. He was _glad_ it was an imposition. At least that way he wasn't the only one being made miserable by the bloody prophecy. "I didn't ask for this either, you know!"

With that, Harry sat down, his legs crossed, his hands clenched together in his lap, and felt Snape settle in behind him. He braced himself, his body mirroring both his tension and his mental rejection of this entire scheme. He heard his teacher gritting his teeth, and recoiled slightly, recognizing the noise as a precursor to one of Snape's famous ego-shattering diatribes. Harry knew all too well the pattern those followed. Insults about his lack of intelligence would be quickly followed by ones detailing his personality flaws. Then would come the deadly comparisons to James. And throughout the whole biting speech would be liberally sprinkled disparaging comments about his physical appearance. Messy hair was the least of it, as Harry had long since learned. Snape found his every feature lacking, if not repugnant, and regarded his smallish stature as _stunted_. The word _runt_ had actually arisen more than once in Potions class, though it was beyond Harry how his deficiencies in face and body were an appropriate topic during what purported to be instructional time.

The expected string of insults never came, though. For a long moment Snape did nothing at all, and even after that, all he did at first was speak in calm, measured tones.

"I know you didn't ask for this," he quietly admitted. "Now, you doubtless find my silence on certain matters extremely trying, but it is necessary--"

"Yeah, yeah, for the invocation," Harry interrupted. " _Got it,_ okay? You have to do something awful to me to make the spell work, and for some bizarre reason you're not allowed to warn me in advance."

"What I have to do is _not awful_ ," Snape stressed. Harry tried to turn around to see his expression, but the man shook his head. "Face the fire. Now, neither is the reasoning behind my silence something bizarre. It has to do with the submission that's at the heart of the ritual. You have to go into it willing to follow my lead, no matter where it may go. This isn't some interpretation of mine, Harry. The rite is very clear on this point."

"Maybe so, but the rite's hardly in control of what you do today."

"Control is the entire issue. You have to stop trying to control _me._ "

"I'm not--"

"You want to know what I plan to do so that you can limit me to those parameters, so that you can object, _you weren't going to do that_. But teaching you to think that way would be teaching you a lie."

"Because the truth is you can do whatever you please," Harry acknowledged. "Yeah, I get that. I did read the stuff you wrote, you know. I just didn't think I'd have to get so used to um, so much submission, until after we'd invoked the spell, that's all."

"Do you understand why it's better not to wait?"

"Yeah, begin as we mean to go on," Harry muttered, resentful even if he did understand. "I still wish you would explain everything, though."

"There are some things I can explain," Snape conceded. "And those, I will, Harry. Now, I mentioned before that I'd developed a spell that should help us through this. It's called _Sensatus._ It's important that you understand what it does and doesn't do, so listen."

Harry nodded, staring into the fire, his fingers starting to ache, they'd been clenched for so long.

" _Sensatus_ will help your mind focus on sensation, Harry. That's all it does. It's not _Obliviate_ ; it won't cause you to forget that I'm the one touching you. However, matters of _who_ or _why_ won't seem so important for a while. You will find yourself consumed simply by _how_ and _what._ The spell won't make you feel things, though. It will just help you acknowledge that you feel, if that makes sense."

"Ah, not really," Harry admitted. 

" _Sensatus_ won't let you deceive yourself," Snape clarified. "And it won't let you deceive me, either, because concentrating on sensation will help you give more honest responses to what I'm doing."

"Yeah, well charming as all that sounds," Harry groused, "I suppose we have to, so spell away."

"When you need it."

"I think I need it before you do... whatever."

"No, you don't, not right at first. I'll use _Sensatus_ when I think it will help. But Harry, it will last only a short while after I cast it, and it's very localized. Once we start with it, I want you to ask for more whenever you feel the need."

Harry sighed. "All right."

"Good." Snape reached past his side, his wand flashing, and the fire lost at least half its light. At once, the room was plunged into deepening shadows. " _Accio salveo_ ," he heard Snape whisper behind him.

"Put yourself into a situation," his teacher continued. "Use your mind. It's after a Quidditch match, and your muscles are strained and sore. You need a thorough massage." Salve slicked hands crept up beneath his sweatshirt to settle against his shoulder blades. Harry couldn't help it; he tensed, and not just because he knew who was touching him. It was the salve, too. Warm like melted butter, yet Snape's hands beneath it were cool. The whole combination was so unnerving that Harry shivered.

"Shh," Snape urged. "It's just a backrub."

"I know it's just a backrub! Shite, do you know what I've been imagining all day? Why didn't you tell me you were only going to give me a backrub?" Harry erupted, irritated.

"Because that wouldn't have been true," Snape lightly sneered, his fingers curling so that his nails scratched skin. 

So Snape had more in mind than a massage? Harry groaned out loud, and then bit his lip, hoping it hadn't sounded like he was enjoying this, or anything.

"Relax," Snape urged. "You're tense. You hurt. Quidditch, remember? It's not so very personal. Just hands on your back." Harry jerked beneath his touch, and heard a sigh behind him. "Pretend, for Merlin's sake. It's important you learn to let me touch you."

That much was uncomfortably true, so with those words, Harry started trying. He was even in the right position for meditation, though he'd never tried it before with someone else's hands on him. He drew in a deep breath, and then another. In through the nose, out through the mouth, feeling his tensions draining away with every healing draught of air. Well, they should. He'd gotten pretty good at this routine, after clearing his mind every night at bedtime for the past two years. He kept breathing, feeling his mind growing more sluggish, relaxing too, going not quite blank, but close...

It was almost the way Snape had described _Sensatus_ , he drowsily thought. He knew who was touching him, but it didn't seem to matter. The Quidditch angle had actually helped; when he was sore after a match, he didn't really care that much who gave him a rubdown. Just as now... Snape's hands were large and strong, kneading his muscles with a practiced touch, his long fingers pressing deeply into his neck and spine in ways that made him begin to feel boneless. _So good..._ the man did know how to give a massage. And the salve... _wow._ It was still just as warm, but now, it seemed to be sinking through his skin to soak into his muscles. A scent of clover surrounded him, though the feel of the salve was strongly reminiscent of mint. Tingly, refreshing, _energizing,_ even as it strangely relaxed his muscles and made them go slack. 

"You made the salve, I bet," Harry drowsily murmured, still doing the deep breathing, but now without any conscious effort towards it. Snape's hands reached up far under his sweatshirt and began to work his shoulders, the pressure moving in firm circles. "Um, is it magic?"

"Not strictly speaking." Snape's fingers were at Harry's nape now, moving slowly over the ridges at the top of his spine. Harry couldn't help it, he sucked in a breath that betrayed just how good it all felt. Then of course, he tensed up again, and had to consciously remind himself to get back to the deep breathing. 

Snape began speaking, but it was just a low hum of noise in his deep, purring voice. Harry couldn't even make out words, didn't think there any, at least not any in English. The sound was just a lull, a pleasant lull. He felt it washing over him, realised it was some sort of chant, and that Snape was speaking it in time to the rhythm of his hands.

Hands which moved up and down his spine with maddening precision, easing every little strain in his back. Really, he had felt a bit as though he'd gone through a rough Quidditch match, and realised that was from holding himself so tensely all day, or maybe week. Time spent with Snape was stressful, his anxious emotions bleeding over into the physical, and not just during their hours together, either. Harry hadn't been sleeping much, not since he'd had to start coming down to the dungeons regularly.

He had a feeling he'd sleep well this night, though, because those hands with their long, tapered fingers were really quite good at seeking out his tendons and urging them to let their tensions go.

"Harry."

It took a moment for Harry to realise that the deep, smooth voice had stopped the meaningless chant and said something recognizable. 

"Hmm?"

Not too coherent an answer, but at least Snape didn't snipe at it.

"Take off your sweatshirt."

A tumble of thoughts ran through Harry's mind as he reached his fingers toward the lower edge of it to obey. _What, again?... Wait, this time I didn't say anything rude, so why is he punishing me?...... Maybe it's a test; he just wants to see if I'll do it...........Hmm, maybe it's just in his way..._

Harry didn't vocalize a thing. He just pulled the shirt off, dropping it forgotten beside his bent legs, and sighed when the hands came back, this time settling on his upper arms. More salve on them, the fresh clover scent rising anew as the hands stroked his biceps, massaging them until he felt his flesh melting beneath that skillful touch, until he shivered with sensation...

"Spell the fire warmer," Snape whispered from behind him. " _Calorum_."

Harry started fishing in his jeans pocket for his wand, but his hands felt so relaxed and uncoordinated that he gave it up. "You do it," he breathed.

"My hands are rather occupied at the moment," came the reply, slightly amused. 

"Oh..." Harry felt himself flushing. Probably it was bad form, for someone like Snape at least, to get salve all over his wand. He wasn't a messy student. Still, that didn't mean Harry wanted to surface from the backrub just yet. It was really nice, much better than the rubdowns he usually did get after Quidditch. "Wandless, then."

"That takes a fair bit of concentration," Snape admitted, his voice still soft. "At the present moment, I'd rather concentrate on you."

More than shivers, that time, and not just from the hands. It was the voice, too, washing over him like some sort of heady spell. Deep, drawling syllables... somehow they didn't sound so very intimidating, not now, not when that biting sarcasm was gone from them. 

Harry managed to get his wand out, murmured the required _Calorum_ , though he said it with little intent. The yellow flames flickered slightly toward the hue of sunset, then settled back into their pale imitation of fire. The wand slipped through Harry's nerveless fingers and fell to the hearth rug.

"I know you're a better wizard than that," Snape quietly remarked.

"Yeah, but I wasn't really cold," Harry explained. 

"Then why cast _Calorum?_ "

For a moment, Harry couldn't even really remember. Then it came to him. "Oh. Um, you said to."

"Ah. So I did," Snape murmured. 

For a while longer, he dragged his hands up and down Harry's arms, pulling the skin taut with each pass. They sat in silence, no sound but the crackle of the flames, but then Harry heard Snape wiping his hands on something, and picking up his wand from where he'd set it on the stones beside the rug.

Harry couldn't help but tense, because he knew it wasn't any innocuous little _Calorum_ Snape was about to cast. 

"Shh," Snape urged, one hand returning to Harry's shoulder to gently massage it again, even as he leaned closer. The length of the man's shirt pressed into Harry's bare back as he touched the tip of his wand to the base of Harry's neck, and whispered, _"Sensatus..._ "

The feel of the spell rushing into him was startling, like his brain had been unhinged from his body, though he could still think just as well... he simply didn't wish to think. All he wanted was to _feel._ Like a flower unfurling before the rising sun, sensation blossomed all through him, though it centered at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, just where the wand had caressed him, was still caressing him, the wooden tip teasing the tendon there.

 _Ah_ , but he could feel everything, not just his neck. Things he'd been feeling before, no doubt, though he hadn't been aware of them. His palms rested on the woven hearth rug, the strands of the weave slightly scratchy. Breezes flowed around him, teasing the hairs on his arms. And the fire... it wasn't hot, or even heated; his _Calorum_ had been too feeble for that, but he could feel the motion of the flames affecting the air currents as they brushed past him. They were magic flames, he realised, and he could feel that too, the waft of spells a physical sensation he realised he was breathing in.

But his _neck..._ more sensation was flooding him now, drawing him away from awareness of all other feeling. Something soft and firm all at once, against his neck. A pulsing, demanding sensation, that all at once became so _hot_ he heard himself hissing in a breath. Moist heat, that was it, laving his neck, but it was tempered by the cool, smooth feel of hands wrapped around him, now, the fingers splayed widely across his belly.

The fingers pressed him backwards, into someone, in a jerking, almost harsh motion, and Harry went with it, leaning fully back into the supporting weight, arching his head to the side to allow better access to his neck. A low, groaning moan climbed up from his belly to settle in his throat, because the kiss on his neck just felt so _good._

Gooseflesh danced all up and down his arms and legs, and he realised he could feel the kiss everywhere, right down into his bones. _So good..._

Just then, though, he started to surface. It came to him that someone was kissing his neck, and not just friendly little pecking kisses either, like he'd tried once on Cho, who hadn't much liked it. These were open-mouthed kisses, hot and passionate, like somebody was just about worshipping that spot near his shoulder where his neck really began. Strange realization, actually, because some part of him had known all along that the moist, sensuous heat was a kiss; what else could it have been? He'd known, yeah. But he hadn't really thought about it, if that made sense. He'd just let the sensation carry him away, just as Snape had said--

Harry's gut abruptly twisted itself into a knot. _Snape. Oh, dear God, Snape. It's Snape kissing my neck, for Merlin's sake, and ohmygod, he's really good at it-- _

All sensation vanished clean away, and Harry began to struggle against the hands pressing into his clenching abdomen, until a soft voice whispered _"Sensatus"_ once again and he felt himself sucked right back down into the delicious trail of pleasure licking across his neck, moving upwards this time, up toward his ear...

Snape was nuzzling his earlobe, biting it ever so carefully, sending chills right down Harry's well-massaged spine. Yeah, Snape. That time he knew who it was... actually, he thought he'd known who it was all along, but it just hadn't mattered. It didn't matter now, either, Harry realised. 

"You let the spell fade too far that time," Snape whispered against his nape, the words a tantalizing puff of breath. Harry panted slightly, rolling his head forward as Snape rose up on his knees, his hands tracing the contours of Harry's ribs. Kisses trailed across the back of his neck and over to his other ear. "Just say to me, ' _Sensatus,_ Severus,' whenever you need it..."

A wand touched his neck again, the opposite side, and Snape blending incantation and instruction into a unified whole. Harry closed his eyes, completely lost in sensation by then. He felt like he could let this go on all night long, it felt so nice. 

" _Sensatus,_ " he moaned after a little while longer, recognizing that time the pull of sensation away from him, the onrush of anxiety creeping in to take its place.

"Say my name," Snape mouthed, his lips moving behind his ear, that time.

" _Sensatus,_ Severus..."

And on and on it went, a slow-moving dance of pure physical pleasure and spells to keep him hovering outside the edge of true awareness. By the time it was over, Harry didn't think there was an inch of his neck and upper back that Snape hadn't thoroughly kissed. There certainly wasn't any part of his back and torso that those hands didn't know.

Finally though, Snape pulled away and left Harry sitting alone in front of the fire, left him when he was still in the wake of the last spell. Harry slowly surfaced to a true realization of not just what Snape had done, but what _he_ had done. _Oh, Merlin... moaning, twisting in his arms, trying to offer him more neck... begging for more, then begging for more of the damned spell..._ And the worst part was, he couldn't even blame his actions on the spell, not really. It's not like he'd been put under any sort of compulsion.... Ugh. That thought brought _Compulsio_ to mind and made him wonder what Snape _would_ make him do, later. Though Snape had said he didn't expect to have to use it, not if Harry obeyed him as he should.... Double ugh.

Shivering in earnest now, Harry snatched up his wand from where it had fallen and spelled the flames with a sincere _Calorum_. Then, knowing it had to be borne sooner or later, he rose to his feet and turned, pulling his sweatshirt back on as he looked around for Snape. He had to face him, right? Because this evening had just been the start, and running off like a child would only make the rest of what they had to do that much harder. As unwanted as his responsibilities were, they were _his,_ no one else's. He was an adult by both British and wizarding law; he had to act like one.

Snape was seated at his usual end of the settee, one hand holding a steaming cup of tea, the other curled around the spine of a book, just as though he had all the time in the world for Harry to recover from their earlier interlude. 

Harry wanted to leave, but didn't think he should leave without a word, so he flopped down on the settee too, leaning his head back against the low edge of it, and managed to say, "Some spell you developed, there, Professor... er, Severus."

"You appeared to like it," Snape merely remarked. When Harry cracked an eye, he saw that the man was calmly sipping his tea. Harry felt his jaw clench slightly at that. Embarrassing as it was, the man _had_ just been kissing his neck like there was no tomorrow; Harry still felt flushed and awkward about the whole thing. So how could Snape be so cool and collected, already?

The answer hit him like a ten-ton brick. The whole point of the evening had been for _Harry_ to learn to feel pleasure with Snape. The older man didn't have to feel any, and apparently hadn't, from the look of things. There he sat, his eyes scanning the page, his fingers flipping to the next one. Harry shook his head, realizing with a jolt that he'd just been staring at those fingers, wondering if the exacting precision brewing required had rendered them quite so agile and skilled!

 _Oh, God,_ wrong thing to start thinking.

"Um... I think I'll just be going now, then," Harry began to say.

"In a moment." With that, Snape shut his book and looked straight at him. Harry felt a dull flush come up under his collar and travel north. It only got worse when the Potions Master quirked a superior, knowing smile. He did level his expression, though, before he spoke. Good thing. If he'd been smirking when he said what he had to say next, Harry couldn't have borne it. 

"Have you been abstaining from sexual activity as we discussed, Harry?"

 _None of your sodding business,_ Harry thought. 

"Yeah," Harry said.

"You do understand why that is important?"

"Yes!" At least his answer was stronger that time, sounding far less like a croak. "Because the spell has to believe I'm sincere about... er, wanting to be with you."

Snape eyed him up and down, though Harry couldn't really imagine what it was his teacher saw. Defensiveness, maybe. Or vulnerability. He didn't like that idea, and sat up straighter. 

"And you are even refraining from arousing yourself?" Snape pressed on.

"Yeah." Harry swallowed, feeling like he ought to complain about that. It was _really_ nobody's business what he did all by himself late at night in his own bed. But he'd thought about what Snape had said, about abstention making certain other things easier, and he'd figured out what it had meant. It was a matter of getting so desperate for relief that _anything_ would sound good to him, even Snape. The whole idea really put him off sleeping, it was so distressing. But he'd gone along with it, and ignored his body's natural urgings, simply because he did know how important the spell was. He had to be able to sleep with Snape, _willingly_.

Triple ugh.

"Hmm," Snape murmured, his gaze black and piercing, now. "You do realise that if you stress your body enough in this way, you'll find relief when you dream?"

"Well, I'm almost eighteen, not almost eight, so I have sort of noticed that!" Harry snapped. He could not _believe_ he was discussing things like this with Snape. 

"Has that happened since you started abstaining--"

"I am _not_ answering that," Harry interrupted. "Don't tell me to, either. We'll just get into a big argument we don't need."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "From now on we'll be doing some touching every night. It doesn't occur to you that it might be instructive for me to know how it affects you?"

Harry felt himself flushing _crimson,_ that time. "Are you _trying_ to embarrass me, Professor?"

"Severus."

"Crap. Right, Severus."

Snape gave him a condescending look. "It's your own concern if you let a few questions about perfectly natural bodily functions embarrass you." He gestured toward the hearth. "Now, if you don't mind, I would like to do some reading. You seem coherent enough to Floo."

Well, if that wasn't a brush-off, Harry didn't know what was. It didn't bother him, though. No, of course not. He was just as eager to get out of Snape's quarters as the man was to get him out. As it turned out, he was a little too eager. He was already in the fireplace, Floo powder in hand, when Snape remarked, "Books, Harry. On the mantle. You have only one week left until your N.E.W.T.s begin, just two weeks until they will all be over. Review advanced Charms, why don't you? I'll go over it with you on Monday."

"Charms, right," Harry acknowledged, grabbing his stack of texts.

"Among other things," Snape added.

Harry got out of there before his teacher could say anything else.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 16, 1998 ---- 9:14 p.m. **

The moment the flash of green fire heralded Harry's exit from his rooms, Severus tossed aside the book he hadn't been reading, and jumped up to begin pacing the room like a caged tiger. It was one thing to settle on _cool indifference_ beforehand, but quite another to maintain the façade after the little session he'd just had with Harry.

It had all sounded so simple when he'd first made up his mind how to begin. A massage... what could be more innocuous? A low smooth chant to be sure his attentions wouldn't leave the slightest mark on Harry's smooth, tanned skin, and then a few kisses scattered across his neck and back. 

The evenings... activities... had been designed with one goal in mind: to push Harry's limits, but not too much. That was important, Severus knew; the young man wasn't the only one who needed to begin as he meant to go on. The demands of Podentes for willing submission actually placed more restrictions on Severus than on Harry, because _he_ was solely responsible for getting the young man to the point where such a thing was even possible.

 _Sensatus_ had undoubtedly helped with that. The spell had made Harry pliant and willing to endure Severus' attentions, had shown the young man that indeed he could experience pleasure in the older man's hands and lips. The trouble was, it had also made him responsive. Too responsive.

 _Beautifully_ responsive.

Severus sank into a chair, plunged his face into his palms, and groaned out loud. How was he going to get through the weeks until the invocation, if Harry moaned and sighed under his touch like that? Never mind that it was good the young man _could_ , what concerned Severus was the danger it posed to his own rigid control. Touching Harry was such a heady pleasure in of itself that Severus had to concentrate hard in order to not push him too far, too fast. When he had to contend not only with that firm, strong flesh beneath his hands, but also Harry's throaty sounds of _pleasure_... Severus didn't know how long he could stand it. 

The evening might have been an interlude of sensual delight for Harry, but for Severus it had been faintly akin to a torture session. Wanting something so very much, and denying oneself, was hardly pleasant, though of course the touching and kissing had been, and very much so. It was the other needs sparked in him that had been so difficult to endure. He'd managed to maintain his tightly clamped calm fairly well throughout the massage, but when he'd begun to nibble at Harry's neck, desire had risen in him so thick and hot that it was all he could do not to match the young man, moan for moan. He'd wanted nothing more than to thrust Harry flat on his back and _truly_ kiss him, kiss him until Harry was begging to be taken, begging to be _impaled..._

And instead, he'd had to restrain himself to simply pouring his passion out against the young man's neck, while all the while Harry was arching into him, responsive in a fresh and honest way that Severus had almost forgotten, he'd been so many years jaded. 

And now, Severus ached.

It was a bone-deep sort of pain, centred in the obvious place, familiar to any man who denied himself for too long, who ignored potent temptation and told his own body _no._ Of course, things with Harry were so foreordained that theirs was more a case of _not yet,_ but that didn't make things easier for Severus. In fact, it made them worse. _Not yet_ was far too akin to _why not now?_ and he couldn't, simply couldn't allow himself the luxury of demanding too soon all he wanted from Harry. Their lovemaking, when it came, had to be entirely consensual, which meant that Severus had to... court... Harry, after a fashion. 

He'd been trying. The wine, the candlelit dinner, a little touching before the fire... He'd been trying his very best, even to the extent of being as courteous as he could manage, and it was almost killing him. He didn't want to woo the young man, didn't want things between them to be soft and romantic and comforting. What Severus wanted, he wanted hot and fierce and pulsing.

He groaned again, because of course thoughts like that were hardly going to help him. Not with the ache he felt now, and not with his resolve to go slowly so that the intimacy the damned prophecy ordained could become possible betwen them. 

Raising his face, Severus stared into the fire, which still glowed orange and warm from Harry's spell. He couldn't quite believe just how attractive the young man had in fact become. Just seeing him without his shirt, his chest slick from the heat in the dungeons, had made Severus' whole body tighten. Really, he hadn't wanted to give him back that ridiculous sweatshirt... the prospect of spending the whole evening with a half-naked Harry, of dining across from the sight, had been quite tantalizing. But useless, as prospects went. Treatment like that would breed anger and resentment, _not_ what they needed to build sexual compatibility.

Besides, it wasn't Severus' aim to shame Harry, or humiliate him, or really, even treat him as a slave, whatever the prophecy said. _Podentes_ had been designed for wizards in love, after all. And while he didn't love Harry--the mere idea was absurd--he did think they should be able to come to an accord. Given the rite they were undertaking, that accord would have to encompass intimacy, and Harry's submission, but it didn't have to include Severus abusing him.

 _Though it would have been nice indeed to keep him shirtless for the entire evening,_ that ache inside Severus spoke up. 

Severus sighed, wondering how it had come to this. A man his age, lusting after a man Harry's age... it wasn't well done of him. It could more easily be borne, he supposed, if the young man at least felt some reciprocal attraction. Or--Severus gave a dry laugh--if Harry was at least drawn in some measure to males as well as females. 

But he wasn't, Severus knew, and his reactions under _Sensatus_ didn't change a thing. Those were purely physical responses to stimuli; nothing to do with orientation. Severus scowled just thinking about it.

Well, at least Harry was no longer sleeping with Hermione Granger. That was something, if the young man could be believed. 

Another scowl, a deeper one, because _of course_ Harry bloody Potter could be believed. He wouldn't lie about something like this, something with implications for the eventual defeat of the Dark Lord. Neither would he endanger that outcome for a few moments of pleasure with his girlfriend. No, he would give himself in sexual slavery, for life, if that was what it took to save the wizarding world from a fate worse than death. Harry would take on the fate worse than death for himself. 

_Such_ a noble Gryffindor. 

Severus curled a contemptuous lip and thanked Merlin that the next day was Sunday, when he wouldn't have to see Harry, and remember.


	12. Chapter 12

 

 

** Sunday, May 17, 1998 9:05 a.m. **

Severus did see Harry on Sunday, of course. In the Great Hall, at breakfast.

He told himself he wouldn't look Harry's way, especially not after that telling comment that Harry had noticed him watching him eat, before. _Cool disinterest..._ he wouldn't even glance at the Gryffindor table, let alone try to catch a glimpse of the young man putting a fork into his mouth....

Severus felt his face heat, felt a familiar ache start up all over again.

He applied himself more rigorously to his toast, buttering it and then spreading it with lemon curd, his movements almost vicious, they were so tightly controlled. Of course his colleagues noticed his agitation, but Severus raised his chin slightly and paid them no mind. Not a single one of them would have the fortitude to question his mood. Not a single one except...

"How are you this fine Sunday morning, Severus?" Albus questioned, eyes twinkling behind his half moon glasses as he slid into the seat alongside the Potions Master. "Everything going well with your... ah, special project?"

 _Special project, indeed._ Severus knew an urge to actually spit at the man. Instead, he composed his features into the studied indifference he was trying to evoke at all times with Harry. "It is progressing," he returned, both his words and tone laconic. "And your related... project? Have you made contact with the colleagues we discussed?"

"That, too, is progressing," the headmaster disclosed, slowly nodding. "Everything should be ready well in advance, though of course I do hope none of it is needed."

"As do I, Headmaster." Severus deftly served himself a banger and began to slice it into neat rounds. He slanted a glance towards the bearded man. "Was there anything else?"

Albus blinked, then glanced toward the Gryffindor table. "Hmm, yes. Once the N.E.W.T.s are over, I think I should like to speak with both of you about a few administrative details."

"Surely you and I can see to those," Severus hinted, but when Dumbledore just smiled kindly at him over his teacup, he knew he was beaten. "Yes, Headmaster." 

_Administrative details..._ he didn't know what those could be. Knowing Albus, of course, they could be anything. Anything at all.

Once the headmaster had left, Severus bit crisply into his toast, his mind so much on the possibilities that he lost his earlier concentration and found his gaze straying toward where Albus' had. Toward the young man. Was he eating this morning, or was he so upset and nervous after his time with Severus that it had put him off food?

He was eating, his manners as hideous as ever, an oily strip of bacon _in his hand_. More than that, he was _waving_ it as he discussed something with... whom else? Hermione Granger. This wasn't Harry's usual animated style of conversation, however. From where Severus sat, the young man looked angry, his face flushed in a way that recalled last night clearly to mind. Severus swallowed, and tried to glance away, but found he didn't really care to.

He strained his ears, but couldn't hear any words above the general student hum.

Miss Granger, though, gestured toward the Head Table, toward _him_ , and Harry shook his head and threw his half-eaten bacon down onto his plate, mouthing what looked like furious words before he shoved his bench back and stalked out, wiping his greasy hands on his blue jeans.

Severus couldn't help but shudder.

The girl had the temerity to meet Severus' eyes, then, her own bright with accusation. Then she stormed out, too, following after Harry.

Mr. Weasley, Severus noted, had watched the whole thing as if it were a wizard's duel, his gaze intent on each student in turn. He looked a bit put out as the argument progressed, had even broken in at one point to say something to Miss Granger, had put his hand on her arm. She'd let it stay there for a while, but she'd shaken it off when she'd gone to chase after Harry.

And Ronald Weasley let her go, just as if he _still_ didn't realise there was a romantic connection, to say the least, between Potter and Granger. As if he didn't know that after a lovers' tiff such as that, with tempers still riding high, a young man and woman might just do a bit more than kiss to make up. 

_Might?_ Severus had been young once, though it hadn't been the young ladies who had caught his eye. Still, the principle was the same. Fights like that, dramatic heartfelt fights... they only led to one thing.

Severus was possessed by a tidal wave of fury as he strode from the Head Table and toward the staircases of Gryffindor Tower.

  
  
  
  


** Sunday, May 17, 1998 ---- 9:26 a.m. **

Severus didn't quite know what he had planned to say when he caught them together; he was more concerned with catching them before Granger managed to put an end to Harry's resolve to remain celibate. He could just imagine it now: Harry's face still flushed with anger, the blood pounding through his temples, his body coiling inside with a need to vent his fury... oh yes, Severus knew all too well how easy it was to sublimate those feelings into a hot burst of passion, to spend your anger in a whirlwind of frantic thrusting. How tempting the prospect, in fact.

He could feel it inside himself as he stalked up the stairs, his long legs taking them three at a time in his haste, only to be brought up short by the sight of Harry coming down from the flight above. The young man was alone, his Firebolt in hand.

Severus assessed him critically, his dark eyes sweeping Harry's shorter form, missing nothing. It _had_ only been a few scant minutes since he'd left the Hall, and the walk here would have taken most of that... His hair wasn't any more mussed than usual, his clothes looked the same, right down to the rather disgusting patch of grease soaked into one lean hip... And his eyes were a clear, innocent green as he saw Severus on the landing below. No hint of guilt on his face... though the moment after he registered his teacher's presence, his whole body did stiffen slightly. Not with guilt though, Severus mused. It was more like nervous apprehension. Rather amusing, in a way. They hadn't done much at all down in his quarters the night before, certainly not enough to warrant a blush, but Harry was indeed blushing as Severus moved to climb onto the same tread as him.

All at once, Severus felt a little bit foolish, chasing off after Potter when the young man clearly had no intention of letting Miss Granger ensnare him in behaviour that would endanger the _Podentes_ rites. In fact, he looked set to do a bit of flying, which was another good way to work off anger and frustration. A juvenile way, certainly, but better than the alternative.

"Um, did I mistake the schedule, Professor?" Harry quietly asked, the question barely more than a breath as his eyes darted from side to side to make sure no one could overhear them.

The stupid young man had completely forgotten the dratted portraits which overheard _everything_ that went on in the halls. And oh, did the portraits love their gossip. Severus had tried to tell Albus that certain of them were just not to be trusted, especially not in these times, times of war, but the headmaster had just worn his usual beatific expression and prattled on about the marvellous new sweets the Weasley boys were developing.

"The schedule hasn't changed," Severus tightly announced. 

"Schedule, wonder what they have scheduled?" a tittering voice announced from the circus scene behind Harry. A painted clown was turning cartwheels as he pondered the question.

"Remedial Potions," Severus growled to shut it up. Better that than it spread word across the castle that Professor Snape had something mysterious scheduled with Harry Potter.

Harry, he saw, had gone rather white. "Excuse me," he ground out, pushing past Severus, actually knocking him a bit out of the way as he continued on down the stairs, his back ramrod stiff.

Severus snarled quietly to himself, and with a swirl of robes, headed back down to his dungeons.

  
  
  
  


** Sunday, May 17, 1998 ---- 1:12 p.m. **

Lunch was more of the same. Severus tried not to watch Harry and failed miserably; Harry ate with his hands and fought with Miss Granger, though this time he must have been hungrier since he actually snatched his plate up and took it with him when he stomped out of the Great Hall. 

Miss Granger predictably followed, while Mr Weasley predictably kept stuffing food in his mouth. That time, he hadn't even gotten involved in the argument; he just let them have at it, and when they stormed off, he let them go.

As before. Well, Ronald Weasley saw the two of them all the time in the Tower. He'd evidently realised what Severus hadn't, which was that the physical part of the relationship was indeed over, though the attraction no doubt remained. There was only one reason why Harry would get quite so irate with his girlfriend, and it was that he wanted her and wasn't going to permit himself the luxury. No doubt Miss Granger thought to use anger to egg him on; the strategy would have worked wonders with most seventeen-year-old young men, but Harry was stronger than that. More self-disciplined. 

Severus found it rather irritating that he'd found a reason to somewhat admire the irritating young man. A reason beyond his sheer physical attractiveness, that was.

At any rate, he didn't follow the couple out again. 

The routine, as Severus had come to think of it, was wholly changed at dinner. Actually, the Potions Master was almost disappointed at the lack of entertainment. Beyond which, it had occurred to him during the afternoon that Miss Granger's incessant teasing of Harry's resolve was really quite useful, assuming of course that Harry didn't give in to temptation. 

By then, however, Severus had concluded that he wouldn't. 

Which meant that Miss Granger's constant seeking after him would put Harry under even more stress to find an outlet... a _Podentes_ _-_ acceptable outlet. If the young man arrived for one of their visits already a little bit bothered...

Alas, during dinner it seemed that Harry had finally had enough of Miss Granger's games. He sat far away from her, at the opposite end of the long table, in fact, and applied himself to studiously avoiding her gaze, though she did try to catch his eye. Interestingly enough, his manners appeared to be a bit more civilized when he wasn't involved in discussions or arguments with his friends. Severus sighed, thinking that _that_ made sense. As was fairly clear in Potions class, Potter could only concentrate on one thing at a time. Either stirring _or_ deciding on the next ingredient, but not both. And here, either eating with a fork _or_ chatting. 

This evening, he was eating with a fork, rather forlorn amongst a gaggle of third years who looked frankly awed by him and afraid to engage him in even casual conversation. Harry ignored that, though he frowned as he steadily worked his way through beef brisket with mashed turnips. _Turnips,_ really. They looked like potatoes, but Severus couldn't mistake the scent as he strode past on his way to the library. If they'd been in any establishment but Hogwarts, Severus would have thought there'd been some mistake, for nobody actually liked turnips, surely. However, the house-elves in the castle were really quite astute when they individualized meals, so Severus supposed Harry must have some strange affinity for the root vegetable, even if he was simply pushing them around and around his plate. 

It made him wonder what would have appeared on Harry's plate for their dinner alone, had he not set the menu in advance.


	13. Chapter 13

 

 

** Monday, May 18, 1998 ---- 7:04 p.m. **

"Charms," Severus said the next evening as he regarded the young man sitting stiffly on the other end of the settee. "The N.E.W.T. is set for next Tuesday, both the essay and the practical in the morning, though your afternoon schedule should not be affected."

"Yeah, I got the schedule, thanks," Harry muttered. 

"You are concerned?"

"What, about Charms? No. I'm good with spells." Oddly enough, a wave of colour washed into his face with the last few words. Was Harry recalling how good Severus had been with _Sensatus?_

"The practical should pose you little difficulty," Severus acknowledged. "But essays are not your area of greatest strength. What have you yet to thoroughly revise?"

Harry sighed. "Ulber's classifications, the protasmic taxonomy, wandless theory, and Graydon's ethical framework."

"In other words, most everything in seventh year save the practical aspect." Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry's expression. "Does that surprise you, that I am cognizant of what is taught at each level in other subjects?"

"Actually, yes, it does," Harry answered. Fishing in his pocket, he drew out a few wooden-looking grey pods and popped them into his mouth, then loudly crunched down on them. Severus was rather startled by the odd snack, and that was before the young man inserted a thumb and forefinger into his mouth and extracted the shells. "Can I have a napkin?"

Severus accioed one, shuddering. "Is that some sort of Muggle food?" 

"Mmm, sunflower seeds," Harry remarked, wiping his fingers on the napkin and starting over with a fresh batch. "They're good, if a bit salty. Want some?"

"No." Severus cleared his throat, and then ventured, "You don't need to bring food down here, Harry. If you're hungry, it's a simple matter to summon a house-elf to fetch you anything you'd like."

"Nah, sunflower seeds'll suit me fine," Harry answered, obstinate. 

"They don't suit me. Put them away," Severus finally ordered, exasperated.

Harry did, wiping his hands once more on the napkin before asking, "This is more of your table manners thing? It's not like we're at a formal dinner or something."

"We're in my home, and those are uncouth at any time."

Harry tilted his head to one side, the green of his eyes intense. "I thought you said to make myself at home, here."

Ah, so the young man was testing him? Interesting. Severus regarded him thoughtfully. "Perhaps you could refrain from eating them except in the kitchen."

"All right," Harry agreed, narrowing his eyes as he considered it. "You know, though, I wouldn't think from your classroom demeanour that you'd be at all concerned with manners. You're unrelentingly rude."

Severus gave him a thin, acidic smile. "I wouldn't think from your classroom demeanour that you'd be at all concerned with learning. You're unrelentingly unstudious."

In his experience, the less academically inclined students usually tried to prove him wrong when he insulted their intelligence, which was one reason he was so _unrelentingly rude,_ as Harry had put it. The student in question, though, flipped his book closed, giving him a look that could be described as weary, or perhaps discouraged.

"I'm not an ace student like Hermione, I know that," he admitted. "It always just seemed like there were so many other things competing for my attention. And no, before you say _Quidditch,_ I don't just mean that. Anyway, now..." Harry shrugged, and looked away.

"Now?" Severus pressed, face expressionless. "I've been most careful to allow you adequate study time, I believe."

"Yeah, you have," Harry admitted. "It's just getting hard to see any point, that's all."

 _Ah._ Severus crossed his legs, his hands steepled together below his chin. "You're thinking, at this late stage, of not putting forth your full effort on your N.E.W.T.s?"

"Well, the only reason to take them is to qualify for a career, and I'm probably not even supposed to be thinking that way, considering the spell won't let me have one," Harry explained.

"You are not enslaved yet," Severus pointed out, not missing it when Harry drew in a harsh breath at the word. 

"You said that didn't matter when it came to... um, you know, me not um..."

"Dallying with lovely young ladies?" Severus drawled impatiently. "That is because _Podentes_ assumes a supplicant who loves the wizard to whom he will pledge himself. To be sexually involved elsewhere would rather mock the essence of the spell itself. Your N.E.W.T.s are a bit different. Taking your exams with all due seriousness will not interfere with our invoking the rite, especially if you take them with full knowledge that you are not going to use the results for a career."

Harry gave him a weary look. "Why take them at all, in that case? How can it matter what scores I get, if I can't ever work a job, if I have to spend the rest of my life being your... er..."

"Say _slave,_ " Severus recommended. "It is better for us not to hide from the truth."

"Slave," Harry muttered, turning his face away. 

Snape moved to sit next to him, putting a finger beneath his chin to make him turn back. "You _will_ have a job to do; the most important job of all. Destroying the Dark Lord. You cannot know in advance just what pieces of knowledge will prove useful."

"Still doesn't mean the exams matter," Harry insisted.

"Your results will help you evaluate your own progress in your subjects. They do matter."

"Well, there is that," Harry sighed, opening up his book again, though he was clearly reluctant. "Let's get back to Charms, then. Can you explain the protasmic taxonomy?"

Severus gave Harry a hard look, not terribly convinced that the young man intended to do his best. It was a bit odd, because during their sessions throughout the previous week, he'd actually found himself impressed by Harry's diligence in revising all his subjects. Well, except Potions, but that hardly surprised him. 

So what could have happened between this week and the last to effect this change? Perhaps it was just a case of pre-exam jitters, manifesting itself rather strangely. There was, after all, only one week left before the N.E.W.T.s commenced. 

Somehow, though, Severus couldn't shake the feeling that almost overnight, Harry had become strangely resigned to his fate, so much so that he couldn't view the end of his formal schooling as meaning much. Well, in part that was a useful attitude for him to have, wasn't it? It might help him give himself unconditionally to Severus, as the _Podentes_ rite required.

"Professor?" Harry prompted. "I mean, er... Severus?"

Severus gave a small shake of his head, and brushed his long black hair away from his face, noting how Harry shifted on the settee to put more distance between them. Severus shifted back too, though he didn't really want to. They'd been almost thigh to thigh for a few moments... but this was Harry's study time, and he didn't want to intrude on that, not really.

"Protasmy has five levels predicated on the degree to which physical properties are altered when subjected to a charm," he began.

  
  
  
  


** Monday, May 18, 1998 ---- 9:32 p.m. **

"All right, I think I get it," Harry sighed later as he wiped the tip of his quill on the edge of his notes. "All of it, though it's a lot to remember. Thanks... um, can we revise Herbology tomorrow? That exam's coming even earlier than Charms."

"You have better command of that material, I think," Severus murmured. "But yes."

Harry's green eyes were shadowed with exhaustion when he looked up. "So, I'll go now?"

There was more than a little hope in the young man's tone. Clearly, he'd like nothing better than to be told that this week was the same as last, reserved almost wholly for studying. The problem was, this week _wasn't_ just like the last. They were one week closer to the invocation on the seventeenth, and moreover, they'd already begun to test the concept of pleasure between them.

Nothing was the same.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Severus lightly sneered, knowing of course that Harry was forgetting nothing. "What are you here for? It's not just Charms."

"It's late now--"

"Don't be coy," Severus snapped. He knew it shouldn't perturb him that Harry was so reluctant, but truth to tell, he found it more than a little bit irritating. The young man had _moaned_ in his arms on Saturday evening, and Severus wasn't a bit disposed to let him forget it. "Get your shirt off!"

"You really have a _thing_ about that, you know," Harry muttered, starting to work on the knot in his tie. Severus watched impatiently, reminding himself that he should have had Harry remove it earlier. It had been useful last week, to help them set a slightly less formal mood even while Harry studied and Severus read. Though, this was rather nice too, he reflected, watching Harry disrobe item by item...

" _Calorum,_ " Severus said to the fire, the barest flick of his wand enforcing the command. The dungeons were very cool, as he liked them; he hadn't bothered spelling them warmer for Harry again, not after the complaints that had generated. But without a shirt, Harry would doubtless find them too cool.

"So," Severus said, eyeing him openly though careful to keep his features schooled into impassive lines. Reaching out a hand, he trailed a finger across each of Harry's bare collarbones. The young man flinched, but held himself in place. "We will talk," he announced, his fingertips moving upwards to stroke the young man's neck. A shiver, at that. Yes, his neck was very sensitive. Severus was hardly likely to forget. "We will talk, and you will accustom yourself to my touch."

"I need _Sensatus_ ," Harry admitted in a voice wavering with panic.

"Not tonight," Severus decreed, one hand massaging taut tendons, the other absently reaching out to take one of Harry's hands. He interwove their fingers, his grip light. "Tonight you learn to let me touch you without spells."

"Well, then I need a Stomach Calming Draught!" Harry erupted.

"No potions, either." Severus laughed, squeezing Harry's hand slightly "I wouldn't think a Gryffindor should need a crutch. Where's that bravery we're all so in awe of?"

"Oh yeah, _that_ line'll work," Harry scoffed. "When you've spent seven years trying to drill one fact into the _mush that passes for my brain_ : that what's bravery to a Gryffindor is just plain reckless stupidity to anyone else."

Severus moved his hand to circle half the young man's throat, his thumb pressing into the windpipe. "In this circumstance, reckless stupidity would be opposing me."

"Does it look like I'm opposing you?" Harry gasped, squirming where he sat, but not enough to dislodge Severus' hand. In fact, Severus realised, Harry had a hand free, but wasn't using it, except to clench against the velvet of the settee.

"It looks like you are unsettled when you really should be relaxed," Severus admitted, letting up the pressure on Harry's throat. His fingers moved downward, to trace his collarbone again, then downward again, to rest against the pads of his pectoral muscles. Quidditch really had toned him well. Severus had to repress an instinct to smile at the sight. 

"I'm taking whatever you dish out, all right?" Harry groaned. "So the invocation'll go well, so afterwards we can... uh, you know... So we can cross our powers! It's a bit much to ask me to _relax_ as well."

"Why?" Severus asked, leaning in closer. He could smell the tang of the salt from those hideous seeds. Quite a nice scent, really. Moving over until they were side by side again, thigh pressed to thigh this time, he pulled Harry against him and held him there with an embracing arm. Hmm, they fit together rather well, Harry's smaller form notwithstanding. Severus wouldn't have believed it; in the past he'd tended towards men his own size, but there was something really quite nice about the unquestioned dominance the disparity suggested.

He frowned, realizing that even without invoking the dark magic in _Podentes_ , he was beginning to enjoy the power he could exercise over Harry. That would bear some thinking about... but not now. For tonight, he had other things on his mind. Harry had said he wasn't attracted to males, but just how had he come to that determination? A certain amount of experimentation was perfectly normal even for a heterosexual.

"Have you ever been with a man, before?" he questioned.

The young man gasped, and tried to pull away, but Severus' grip was tight. And really, the small rebellion only lasted a moment.

"No, of course not!" Harry retorted. 

"A boy, then?"

"I _told_ you, I'm not attracted to males!"

"Perhaps not, but at your age?" Severus shrugged, and letting go of Harry's hand, turned towards him enough to run his palm up and down across his abdomen. The young man's muscles rippled with tension. "It's rather expected that you'll have explored the option, at the least. Don't you find any of your dorm mates attractive?"

"Not _that_ way."

"Hmm." That was a bit of a disappointment. Severus had hoped there'd be some prior experience to build on, to make this easier. He'd even intended to ask for at least some level of detail, so he'd know what Harry was and wasn't comfortable with, though no doubt it would have taken several evenings to get any real answers out of the young man. Well, that was a moot point, now. Harry's only sexual experiences had been --alas-- with the young ladies. That had implications beyond mere orientation; it meant that Harry would be entirely unaccustomed to being on the bottom, so to speak. "No kissing, even? With males, that is? No? Not even necking?"

"Only with _you_ ," Harry sourly explained. "Can we get _off_ this topic? I hardly want you to remind me what I'm stuck with now."

And by implication, what he was missing out on. 

"Miss Granger seems quite upset with you of late," Severus needled him. "You haven't sat with her at meals since your argument at Sunday lunch."

Harry stiffened. "What, are you watching me at every meal, now? Checking on my manners? Well, not that it's any of your business, but yeah. Hermione's got her nose all out of joint, and I'm tired of listening to it."

Severus let pass the opportunity to point out that one could hardly listen to a nose. "What does the argument concern?"

At that, Harry gave a deep scowl. "I don't want to talk about it."

Severus sighed, and gentled his grip on the young man's shoulder. "She knows about the prophecy, doesn't she?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, Binns explained it to us both. Besides, before I knew what it was all about, I let her see what Neville had written out from memory. But she won't tell anybody." He gave a sharp laugh. "Not just 'cause she loves me, either. She's not exactly eager to usher in a reign of terror for Muggleborns, though she does just give me these awful pitying looks every now and then. But at least the others have all stopped that."

Severus wasn't surprised to hear Harry candidly own that his love for Granger was returned, but at the moment, he had more important matters on his mind. "What do you mean, _the others?_ " he quickly rapped out, losing all interest in touch, for the moment. He sat forward, both his hands in his own lap, and turned his head to glare at Harry. "I understand that Trelawney's fit precipitated some rumours, but I was under the impression that you had used some sense for once in your life, and kept the details out of public view!"

Interesting that Harry didn't quail before his anger the way he flinched back from even a gentle touch. Of course, given their history, he was far more used to receiving scorn and fury from Severus. 

"I have kept quiet," Harry calmly explained. "Listen, the students only took it seriously because Neville freaked out. When the spell didn't appear to even exist, they all chalked it up to Trelawney being her usual gloom-and-doom self. You do realise she predicts my death at least twice a month?" He shrugged. "It was just a nine days' wonder. And, you know, an intrigue that got them out of class."

Severus lapsed into thought. "Exactly who has seen the full text of the prophecy?" he questioned. "Longbottom's flawed version of it, that is?"

"Just me, Hermione, Ron, Neville, Professor Binns, the headmaster, and you." Harry recounted. "That's it, sir. Honestly."

"Severus," his teacher absently corrected. "Did Longbottom make any other copies?"

"No. The headmaster told him to keep it all quiet."

"How much would you say he understands, though, about what we're planning?"

Harry grimaced. "Well he knows there's some spell you and I have to undertake together. Ron sort of blurted it out in front of Neville that you were the one who hated my guts but had saved my sorry skin, anyway. I was alone with Hermione when we found out it involved me agreeing to be your... ugh, slave for life, but even she doesn't know that I have to be your er..."

"Body slave?" Severus suggested, feeling his anger replaced by a dark glimmer of amusement.

Harry closed his eyes briefly. "Right. She doesn't know _that_ , and I'm hardly about to tell her."

Well, that certainly explained a few things, in Severus' view. If Harry hadn't told his girlfriend the full truth, then she wouldn't have any way of knowing just why he was refusing to dally with her any longer. It was no wonder she was angry, and goading him. And though that had certain advantages in terms of keeping Harry in a state of sexual tension, it wouldn't be wise to take the principle too far. The Granger girl was far from pretty--though Severus knew he was no real judge of women--but Harry seemed to like her well enough. Perhaps it was time to warn her off. 

"It might be better if you told at least Miss Granger precisely what your enslavement will entail--" he began, halting when Harry began vociferously shaking his head. 

"You have got to be kidding. I'm amazed she's managed to go this long without telling Ron it's an enslavement charm at all, but if she hears that, she'll get a hundred times more upset, and have to confide in him. I _know_. And Ron!" A breath whistled through Harry's teeth. "He'd end up in Azkaban for attempted murder. Well, after he blurted it out in the common room or something. _Not_ a good idea."

"It appears not," Severus returned, his hands returning to Harry's bare chest, for a moment. He traced the outlines of his ribs, his fingers drifting down toward the waistband of the young man's trousers, though they didn't delve inside. Severus abruptly withdrew his touch and handed Harry his shirt. "Get dressed now; we've done enough for one evening, then. You may go." 

"Wait, there's something I've been meaning to ask," Harry put in, leaning forward to shrug his shirt on. His fingers buttoned it as he spoke. "Just how long do you plan to keep spying for the Order? It really won't be safe, will it, once we invoke the spell? I mean, Vol... oh, crud. _The Dark Lord,_ okay, he might find out at any time from some Ministry stooge that you've ah... taken me under your wing, so to speak."

"Just 'taken me,' would be more apropos," Severus sneered, heartily sick of Harry's hesitations and vapid _you-knows_. "Why are you so afraid to speak plainly about sex? It's just a bodily function."

"Why are you so afraid to call him what I do?" Harry smoothly returned. "It's just an asinine meaningless title the cowardly little arsehole gave himself. And you didn't answer my question. Are you done spying as of now? It's probably a very bad idea to cast sensuality spells on me one night, and the next go traipsing off to plot my death with _him_."

"Occlumency, Mr Potter," Severus snarled. "I trust you've heard of it?"

"Well, what about after we have to register our contract with the Ministry of Magic? _That's_ got to put an end to your illustrious spy career!"

"The Ministry shall be informed that as you have placed yourself under _Cambiare_ _Podentes_ , you are now a slave. We don't have to disclose who owns you."

Harry stood up, turning his back on Severus before he began tucking his shirt into his trousers. He waited to speak until he was facing the older man, again. "That might buy some time, I suppose, but really, don't you think the Death Eaters will figure things out in short order? You can't keep going to meetings, Severus. They'll kill you to keep us from crossing powers."

"Your concern touches me," Severus scathed.

Harry blinked. "Oh... sorry. Listen, I wouldn't want you dead regardless, so don't get all bent out of shape. That reminds me, though. Um... supposing you die before me, am I... oh God." He drew a breath and blurted, "I'm like the rest of your property, I guess. So who's your heir?"

"Merlin, you don't understand _anything,_ " Severus groaned. "Come sit down again."

When Harry was next to him, though not so close as before, he went on, his face intent, "Why do you think the master wizard gains such complete control over the supplicant's powers? For that matter, why _Compulsio?_ It's for the master wizard's protection, because death is the only known way to end the enslavement. If I predecease you, you'll be free."

"That's... quite an inducement," Harry coughed, startled. 

"Planning my death already?"

"No, I meant... er, you know those things you wrote about people thinking that with twice-filled powers I could become the next Dark Lord? Um, well killing you would be a way to end our crossed powers, wouldn't it?"

"Actually, it's not recorded what would happen in that regard. Assuming we have already achieved fully crossed powers, killing me might extinguish the only force on earth that _can_ hold you back. That thought would give any would-be assassins pause, I should think."

"Yeah, I should think _so_ ," Harry muttered. "But you said this rite was designed for wizards in love, anyway. Why would the master wizard need to worry about his own slave turning on him?"

"You're very much the Gryffindor, believing that love is a lifelong state of mind. As to my heir, I should think you could reason that out."

Harry gulped, that time. "Um, Professor Dumbledore?"

Severus clicked his teeth. "No, you imbecile! You! You're my heir!"

"Me?"

"Of course. You'll need your property back once I'm no longer there." With that, Severus levered himself off the settee and held his hand out. " _Accio_ Harry's letter." An envelope fashioned of thick cream parchment flew down the hall and settled atop his palm. It was still sealed with a round dollop of red wax impressed with the Gringotts' seal.

"Open it in your dormitory," Severus instructed, handing it to him. "You'll need your key to read much past the salutation. And then bring the letter back on Saturday. Bring your key as well; we'll prepare a request for your vault to be transferred into mine." He sighed, deeply exhausted by all of it. "Now, just go, Harry."


	14. Chapter 14

 

 

** Tuesday, May 19, 1998 ---- 5:31 p.m. **

Severus was scowling the next afternoon when Hermione Granger hung back at the close of the Advanced Potions N.E.W.T. review session. Too much to hope that she was simply slow at putting her materials away. Not her, with her efficient organization.

As soon as the last of the other students had left, Miss Granger approached his worktable, a determined gleam in her eye. 

_Merlin spare me from jealous little girlfriends,_ he thought caustically, and before she could get a word in edgewise, drew battle lines with a sardonically drawled, "Do you have something to ask me, Miss Granger, or do you just enjoy wasting my valuable time?"

She didn't even step back from the tone, the dratted Gryffindor. "Yes, Professor, I have something to ask you," she quietly replied, though her eyes were flashing in anger. 

"Well, ask it then, you stupid girl!"

Severus didn't know what he expected her to say, but it certainly wasn't a plaintive:

"Will you please tell Harry to let me tutor him in Potions?"

Well, it wouldn't do for a full professor to gape, would it? Severus managed to hide his shock and school his features into disdainful lines. It wasn't hard; it was his usual expression. "As you've no doubt noticed, Mr Potter is no longer in any of my classes. Just how do you propose I go about telling him anything? And what makes you think he would listen to me, if your own rather pitiful..." he let his gaze rake her up and down, "Enticements... have failed to persuade him?"

Shock upon shock, because what the girl said next was a carefully worded, "Perhaps we should speak where we can't be overheard."

Severus leaned back against the wall behind him, his arms folded, and assumed his most intimidating expression. "You are in Advanced Charms, I believe. Is a simple warding spell beyond your capabilities?"

She gritted her teeth, stomped to each door in the classroom, five in all, and performed a very competent _Silencio_ on each.

Severus honoured her with a thin, disparaging smile. "Is that the best you can do? What about _Imperforable? Sonito non pasare? Ubiquatas senseo?_ " 

"What about your talking to Harry?" she pressed, refusing to lose sight of her objective. Of course, Severus was fairly sure that _tutoring_ was a far cry from her true objective. Potter was still avoiding her, as far as Severus could see. His weakest subject was without a doubt Potions, and Miss Granger well knew it. She wanted a pretext to get them in close confines, the two of them bent together over a single book, or some such romantic mush. Yes, as far as Miss Granger could tell, her boyfriend had lost interest, so she was determined to lure him back. Even using Harry's weakness in Potions against him.

Very Slytherin of her, actually. Severus knew a small twinge of admiration for her cunning.

Fortunately, though, it would take more than cunning to induce Harry Potter into endangering the _Podentes_ rites. Even though he did need help in Potions, he'd evidently refused to accept it from Granger. Perhaps he knew her motives weren't so pure as merely wanting to help him; or perhaps he merely knew it would be wisest not to be alone with her.

"What makes you think Mr Potter would study with you simply because I recommend it?"

Miss Granger planted her hands on her hips, reminding him inordinately of Molly Weasley. "Harry hasn't said so, but I know he must be seeing you in the evenings. Every night he has a different excuse, but I _know_ him. I can tell when he's lying. And on Saturday... he said he had to study, and then he wasn't even going to take his books? Well, with what that prophecy had to say, it wasn't too hard to figure out where he must be going."

Severus stared at her quite blankly. "Your wild speculations aside, I ask again: what makes you think Mr Potter would study with you simply because I recommend it?"

She stuck out her chin in her determination, though her voice wavered as she returned, "I understand the prophecy, Professor. Harry... he's your slave now, isn't he? He hasn't been... anything like himself for over a week now, so I reasoned that he must have done this _Cambiare_ _Podentes_ rite with you--"

One moment, she was ten paces from him, and in the next, he had leapt to her side, robes billowing, and clamped a hand harshly over her mouth. "Do be more discreet, Miss Granger," he hissed in her ear, his free hand pinioning her shoulder until her eyes registered pain. "Your pitiful little warding spells are _wholly inadequate_ to the danger spilling from your lips," he went on, the whisper so low that even she would have to strain to hear it. "Do not name that rite again. Not to me, not to Mr Potter, not even to the headmaster or the Minister of Magic himself, under any circumstances. _Is that clear?_ "

Only when she gave a jerky nod did he release her and wipe his hands off on his robes. It would have given him a considerable amount of satisfaction to summarily dismiss her; a simple _Good day, Miss Granger_ would suffice. However, he didn't have much faith that she wouldn't continue to pry into Harry's private business. That was, after all, what Gryffindors were best at. But in this case, it had to stop.

"Come into my office," he barked, striding toward the door to it and sneering as he dismantled her pathetic attempt to ward it. But what could one expect? Seven years of Defence lessons, and not a decent teacher in the lot, though the students did so love to laud that _werewolf_...

He slammed the door and warded it properly, then all but shoved her into a chair before taking his own seat behind his desk. Eyebrows drawn together, he gave her the full effect of what he'd heard students call his Slytherin Death Glare, and ground out, "You love Mr Potter dearly, I am sure, so it is completely beyond my comprehension why you would _repeat those words_ and jeopardize his very life!"

Well, at least he'd gotten her attention. "I... I... thought the room was warded..."

"Do us all a favour, Miss Granger, and consider that for all your talents, you are a seventh-year student, not an accomplished mage!"

"Yes, sir," she whispered, looking absolutely appalled. Well, that was something, at least. 

"Now, as to Mr Potter. Would you like to see him live long enough to undertake the rite?"

"Of course! You-- you mean you haven't invoked it, yet? I thought--"

"Yes, it is exceedingly clear what you thought. That I was summoning him every night to... ah, well, there is a question," he mused, dropping into thought. Harry hadn't told her anything about the nature of a _Podentes_ enslavement, but she just might have reasoned it out on her own. Was the stupid girl jealous? That would explain a great deal... "What did you think I was summoning him to my quarters to do, Miss Granger?"

He expected a blush, and more stammers, not a blank expression and a vapid, "Mark tests?"

 _Gryffindors._ Idiots, every last one of them.

"Have I ever given you one second's worth of reason to believe I would regard Mr Potter as competent to correct student work?" Severus drawled. Really, the situation was quite serious; he was certain it would be inappropriate to laugh. _But honestly..._ Harry had thought his slavery might consist of cleaning cauldrons and polishing boots, and now his little bushy-haired girlfriend thought he'd been set to _marking tests..._

If their lives weren't in danger, it would be bloody hilarious.

"Then what is he doing, night after night with you, and all day long on Saturday?" the girl pressed, her face going rather white. "We're really concerned about him! Ron says he wakes up screaming all the time, Professor. What are you making him _do?_ "

"In point of fact, he is alternately studying," Severus rasped, "and preparing with me to invoke the spell, which is no small undertaking, I assure you. I am sorry if you have been missing his scintillating company, but you will simply have to accustom yourself to the loss."

Miss Granger sat up even straighter than before. "Well, let him study with _me_ then, if part of his time is allocated for revision."

Severus bared his teeth at her. "No. Mr Potter needs to spend his evenings with me."

"But he won't study Potions with you," the girl declared. "I know he won't!"

"That is entirely at his discretion," Severus sneered. "No doubt he's aware I know the subject."

"You kicked him out of class after telling him for seven years that he was too stupid to learn it! He's not going to ask _you_ for help, not with that! And he _needs_ a decent score in Potions or he won't be able to enter the Auror's program!"

"He can't enter the Auror's program in any case. I'm sure if you think for a moment, you'll realise why."

The girl gasped in horror, or maybe outrage. "You're going to forbid him to work? That's so _cruel_."

"It's not me, it's the spell," Severus sighed. All at once baiting her lost its appeal. "Miss Granger. If you care at all about Mr Potter, you will leave his well-being to me. I really cannot say any more, other than to urge you to not mention what you know about the rite, or his future to anyone, not even Mr Weasley. You are putting Mr Potter in extreme danger."

She stood, her eyes narrowed. "I just want him to do as well as he should. Will you at least _offer_ to revise Potions with him, if you won't let him out to study with anybody else?"

Severus had endured quite enough from her, and since the headmaster's decree didn't extend to anyone but Potter, it was a distinct delight to drawl, "Twenty points from Gryffindor for impertinence. You will _not_ barge into my office screeching that I do your bidding."

"Barged!" the girl gasped. "You _yanked_ me in here!"

"Shall we make it thirty points, or will you cease your caterwauling?"

Friends meant more to her than points, evidently; she raised her voice still further. "Harry's going to fail his N.E.W.T. practical if you don't help him, _sir_."

"Then he fails," Severus scathed. "Do you expect me to die of shock at the mere prospect? It's not my fault his head is full of Quidditch statistics."

"It's your fault you dropped him from your class," Miss Granger scathed back. "Has it occurred to you that he's had no laboratory time, since? I thought if anyone would believe that sound brewing techniques couldn't be gleaned from books alone, it would be you. Good day, sir."

And with that, she flounced to the door, tapping her foot until Severus released the wards to let her pass.

  
  
  
  


** Tuesday, May 19, 1998 ---- 7:01 p.m. **

The first words Snape said when Harry stumbled from his hearth that evening were, "Floo back up and get your cloak."

 _Strange,_ Harry thought. _He usually demands I get undressed, not the reverse, but okay..._ Then again, unlike most nights, Snape was wearing a full set of his own robes, so perhaps he had in mind for them to take a walk or something, unlikely as that seemed.

Another dizzying journey through the Floo, and he was back in the headmaster's office, pulling his cloak off the peg where he'd hung it. Dumbledore was nowhere to be seen, which was typical; Harry hadn't seen him once, in all the times he'd used the man's Floo. Avoiding him again, Harry surmised. The thought was depressing, but not exactly unexpected. Probably the headmaster was doing the same thing Snape was: looking ahead to the not-so-distant future when Harry would have to depend entirely on the Potions Master. 

He didn't know what to think as he stepped into the headmaster's fireplace and Flooed on back. Why would he need his cloak? 

"Follow me," Snape snapped as soon as he tumbled forth again, books still in hand. 

Shrugging, Harry trailed along after the man, through the parlour, down the hall and into the reading room, and then down another corridor he hadn't been in. It dead-ended at a peculiar statue of a snake climbing a column inscribed with some ancient writing. Cuneiform, maybe. Harry wasn't sure. Snape whispered a charm at it in some strange language. Harry almost expected the snake to start moving or something, but no, it was just a statue. Apparently, Snape had been talking to the wall, which vanished clean away to reveal a long, dark corridor.

"Wizardspace?" 

"No, just a passage," Snape tightly informed him. "Come on."

The wall closed behind them, and after that they needed _Lumos_ to make their way down the passage. It wasn't too long, though. It came out into a room Harry had never seen before, though it was easy enough to divine its purpose. A private Potions lab. Well, no great surprise there. Snape brewed a great many restricted and even illegal Potions for the Order, and also sometimes had to cook up bizarre things Voldemort demanded. It was a bit daft to think he'd do it all in his classroom, or the teacher's lab adjoining it; there was too much chance of a student stumbling onto something best kept secret.

Harry looked about for an out-of-the-way counter and set his books down, then pulled a stool over and began sorting out his notes on Herbology, but he stopped when Snape slapped a hand down on top of the parchments.

"Sir?"

"Severus!"

"Severus," Harry acknowledged. That was really hard to get used to, far more so than he would have guessed. 

"Why do you think I had you go get your cloak?"

Strange question. "It's cold in here," Harry ventured. It came to him on that thought that really, it had been considerate of Snape to bother thinking of that. 

Snape made an impatient noise in the back of his throat. "Do try to use your mind, this time. Look around. What do you suppose you're in here to do?"

Harry blinked. Talk about strange questions! "Well, I figure you have something you need to brew, something your classes shouldn't catch wind of, and you brought me in here to study while you do it. You know, part of that um, getting used to each other thing we're working on."

"You are remarkably dense," Snape sneered. "I am taking you through all your subjects, am I not? For your N.E.W.T.s? You're here to revise Potions, Potter!"

Harry shot to his feet and backed up a few steps. "Oh, no I'm not. We agreed, we said tonight would be Herbology--"

Snape advanced on him, stomping straight over to where he stood, and then stepping forward again, pushing Harry back against the wall, his hands coming out to grasp both his wrists in a tight grip that left no room for argument. "You see why I don't want to be telling you my plans in advance?" he menaced, his lips curled back in disdain. "This is precisely what I said I didn't want. You, trying to limit my will with regard to you!"

Harry violently yanked his wrists, trying to dislodge Snape, but the man was lean and wiry and anticipated his every move. "Let go!"

"No."

Instinct more than conscious thought had Harry jerking a knee up, but Snape anticipated that, too, and crushed him flat against the wall, immobilizing him. "You would dare attack me?" he hissed against Harry's ear, bending down to compensate for the disparity in their heights.

"Look at what you're doing to me!" Harry retorted, struggling again. A sharp bite on the top of his ear shocked him out of it. "Ouch! What's your fucking problem? Why are you so angry?"

"My problem," Snape ground out, actually biting him _again_ , although less fiercely, "is that I won't have you say _oh no I'm not_ when I tell you what you _will_ in fact be doing!"

 _Oh, dear Merlin..._ with that, the man was licking lightly at the place where he'd bitten, and Harry didn't have any _Sensatus_ to help him deal with it. It was all he could do to stand still and let it happen, not that he had much choice. If he struggled, he'd probably just get bitten again.

"Severus," he said, clearing his throat. It wasn't a lick now, it was definitely more of a kiss, and it was trailing down the back of his ear... Gooseflesh rose all up and down his arms. "Um, Potions? You took me by surprise, that's all," he gasped, a bit horrified to hear how breathless he sounded. Probably better not to talk. He'd just... wait until Snape stopped sucking on his earlobe...

Harry gave up on holding himself in tense objection, and melted against the stone wall behind him, because by then, he'd figured it out. This was like the deal with his clothes. It was another little mind-game designed to teach him to be a bit more compliant. The longer he resisted, the longer it would go on.

Sure enough, the moment he stopped twisting his wrists to get them free, Snape let them go, and stepped back for good measure. You wouldn't even have known the Potions Master had been almost... passionate, the moment before. He still wore a deep scowl, though it actually deepened as he glanced critically over Harry. 

_Probably regretting the kiss,_ Harry thought. After all, Snape had made it pretty clear that he didn't enjoy anything associated with his own part in the enslavement spell. 

"Dreamless Sleep," Snape suddenly announced, his lip still curled. "It's a common enough assignment on the N.E.W.T. practical. Everything you should need is in the storeroom, there." He pointed.

Still feeling a bit unnerved, not to mention shaky on his legs, Harry didn't move.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Snape scathed. "Brew it!"

  
  
  
  


** Tuesday, May 19, 1998 ---- 7:34 p.m. **

It was worse than Potions class had ever been, and wasn't that a telling comment, Harry thought caustically as the evening proceeded. Here, Snape didn't have an audience of Slytherins avidly watching, yet he still managed to thoroughly humiliate Harry.

"Not like that, you imbecile! How many times do I have to say it? _Counter-_ clockwise!"

"Five veins of bat's wing, not four! Didn't those Muggles teach you to count?"

"It's a potion, not a stew! It _is_ supposed to boil hard!" 

And on and on, until Harry could hardly stand it. Not even detentions had ever been this bad, because of course in detention he was mostly set to scrubbing counters and floors. And sure, Snape was critical as hell about that too, but somehow it didn't have the same sting as, "This is never going to soak through your thick skull, is it?"

Harry had tried his best, not just on the stupid Potion, but also at being properly compliant as Snape ordered him about and railed at him. Finally, though, enough was enough. He threw his stirring stick down, uncaring that it spattered goo everywhere, and stomped off without a word, so upset that he forgot his books as he headed down the passageway that led back to Snape's quarters.

The wall at the other end was closed, though, which left Harry in a little bit of a quandary. Going back would tend to ruin his grand exit, but just sitting here waiting for Snape was sort of stupid. Now knowing what else to do, Harry drew his wand and tried to spell open the wall. Habit had him mouthing all the standard kinds of spells, to no effect. He even tried asking in Parseltongue, but that was akin to Snape's demanding "Reveal your secrets" when the Marauders' Map needed to hear he was up to no good. Finally calming down enough to think, Harry drew in a deep breath and tried to vocalize the incantation he'd heard Snape use.

Well, either he'd heard it wrong or he couldn't quite pronounce it right, because that didn't work, either.

Resigned to his fate, Harry settled into the corner at the very end of the passage and curled his legs in against his body, huddling down in the cloak and waiting. It _was_ cold, though of course that wasn't why Snape had made him wear the garment. It was for protection against Potions accidents; he should have realised as much when Snape had first asked.

What was _taking_ the man so long? _Oh no..._ Harry had a sudden, awful thought that there might be another hidden door out of that lab, that Snape had left him here to ponder his folly, or some such nonsense. To punish him.

He wanted to go back down the passage and make sure his teacher was still there--it was awfully quiet now--but he didn't actually want to see Snape, so he didn't move. Instead, he put his wand away, and sat in the dark, and tried his best not to think.

Probably only a few more minutes elapsed after that, but it seemed like an eternity. Then Snape's footsteps thudded through the dark towards him. Instead of spelling open the hidden door and striding through, however, the Potions Master murmured a cleaning charm and sank down to the floor, leaning against the opposite wall from Harry. He placed his wand between them, the tip glowing softly enough to cast a dim, suffuse light all around.

Harry didn't know what to say, but he felt a bit of a fool, huddling in his cloak like he was in need of a hug or something, so he unfurled a bit, stretching one leg out in front of him, keeping the other bent for balance. Snape, he saw, was staring at him, dark eyes rather methodical, or at least it looked that way in the spooky half-light his wand gave out.

"Well." Snape finally broke the silence to say. "That didn't go well."

For some reason, the vast understatement struck Harry as funny, but his laugh was the kind that falls halfway between amusement and absolute despair. Dark humor, that was it. He raised a hand to his mouth and bit into it lightly to stop himself from making the awful half-sobbing noise the laughter had suddenly assumed.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, don't start crying on me," Snape softly snarled. "Miss Granger will be at my throat again."

That certainly helped him stop making the noise. "Again?"

Snape waved a long, lean arm towards the far end of the tunnel. "Her idea. Frankly, I would have preferred revising Herbology."

"Me too," Harry admitted, hunching over a bit, his hair falling into his eyes. "I've told her to stay out of it."

"It?"

"You, me, Potions," Harry explained. "It's not a good mix."

"One would hope, without the Potions, we can make it work," Snape commented. 

"One had better do more than hope," Harry sighed. "It has to work."

"You're thinking of your birthday?"

"Not so much. _Him_ , mostly."

"Miss Granger also mentioned dreams and screaming," Snape quietly commented. "Are you having nightmares about _him,_ Harry, or are they about us?"

"I'm going to strangle Hermione," Harry announced in a long-suffering tone. "She should just keep her nose in her own business."

"She can't do that; she's a Gryffindor." 

"She's going to be one sorry Gryffindor if she doesn't start leaving well enough alone."

"A sentiment I've felt myself, many a time over the years.... However, it's just as well she mentioned your dreams, I think. I know this can't be an easy thing for you--"

"To say the least," Harry interrupted.

"Yes. Precisely. But you really should come to me if your dreams are troubling you."

"Oh, I get it. Dreamless Sleep, right? Not too subtle, but then I didn't know Hermione was blabbing to you about all my problems."

Snape reached into his robes and pulled out a vial. "Here. You're old enough to dose yourself without a mediwitch supervising. One teaspoon."

Harry shook his head. "You've got to be kidding. I must have made five separate errors on ingredients alone."

"Seven," Severus corrected. "Your results have been spelled away. This is the draught I prepared after you left."

Harry took it, then. "Oh. Well, thanks. Um, Severus."

The Potions Master shrugged. "I needed to think. Brewing's very conducive to that. For me, at least." Picking up his wand, he whispered a stronger _Lumos_ , though he moved the glare away from Harry's eyes before setting it down. "Answer my question, now. What troubles you so much in your dreams: the Dark Lord, or the idea of us together?"

"What bothers me is me," Harry thickly admitted, turning his face away. 

"You," Severus echoed, prompting him.

"Well, he's in there too, and by implication us, I suppose, but mostly it's me."

"You're going to have to do better than that."

Harry lifted his head from his hands, then raised it until it collided with the wall behind him. Actually, he knew an urge to repeatedly bang the back of his head against the stones. "My dreams are really personal," he protested. 

"If you're waking up screaming, they're significant even if they're sexual in nature--"

"Oh God, they're not _that,_ " Harry gasped. 

"Harry, just tell me," Snape flatly ordered. "In less than a month I become wholly responsible for you. I need to know what's troubling you this much."

Harry almost banged his head into the wall again. Instead, he shifted until he could sit cross-legged, his hands resting on either side of him as he leaned against the wall. He didn't want to tell Snape anything, and certainly not _this_ , but the mere weight of the dream itself was pressing down on him, telling him he had to do it. Not because Snape needed to know, but because he had said to tell him... because that was what the dream was all about, really. Submission...

"I dream I'm in the cemetery again," he admitted, closing his eyes. "After the Tournament. I'm tied to that gravestone, and Wormtail is chanting that awful incantation, and I'm listening. Oh, dear God... I'm _listening_ to every word! But I'm not fast enough to understand. Because don't you see? Everybody tells me it's not my fault he rose again, and I think I even started to believe it for a while, but deep inside, I knew better. _You_ reminded me of it when you wrote in your summary that you had to spill my blood during the _Podentes_ invocation. My mind flew right to the parallel and I've been dreaming about it ever since. Every night. Twice a night. I tried silencing charms, but a while back when I was out, Ron and Hermione spelled my bed so any charm cast on it would wrap itself around Ron's bed, too." Harry gasped, remembering his panic when he'd found that out. "Because he needed to be there to help me in the night, he said, if it got bad."

Snape waited a moment before he spoke; Harry supposed he was letting it all get talked out, first. "I understand your dream, but only in part. You believe you are responsible for the Dark Lord's resurrection, clearly. But why? You were a child, Harry. You weren't to blame; your blood was blood forcibly taken."

"That's it exactly," Harry groaned, rubbing his temples. "That's what he said... _Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken..._ And I heard him, but I didn't react, not quickly enough. I didn't realise completely what he meant. Well, no, I did realise that, but I didn't grasp what it implied. I should have relaxed my arm and _welcomed_ that knife, instead of fighting it with everything in me. Because then it wouldn't have been forcibly taken; I would have _given_ it, and the spell wouldn't have worked, and the Dark Lord would still be looking for a way back."

"Hmm. I'd never thought of it in that light."

"Me neither, until I dreamed that same dream a whole bunch of times, and realised what it was telling me."

" _Forcibly_ taken," Snape mused. "I think you're misinterpreting the word. Wormtail didn't say _unwillingly_ , which is more what you're describing. Even if you had managed to welcome being cut open, you would still have been bled by force."

"Yeah, well, we'll never know, will we? Because I _struggled_. I didn't even try." 

"You had how long? Perhaps ten seconds to process what Pettigrew had said? And this when you were tied up in a cemetery and had just seen him chop off his own hand before he approached you with a knife? I have no doubt you were scared to death. It's asking a bit much to think you could manipulate your own emotional state into the improbable realm of _wanting_ to yield him blood, don't you think?"

"You drive yourself into false willingness all the time when he demands you cast _Cruciatus_ for him. I know what the dream is telling me."

Snape frowned. "I know what to expect. I'm prepared, mentally, to make the shift. And I'm far older than you were. At any rate, what do you think your dream is telling you, besides the wholly erroneous conclusion that everything is your fault?"

"Well, it's bloody obvious, isn't it?" Harry groaned. 

"Apparently not, since I've asked."

"It's all about _Podentes,_ about me not making the same mistake again! Why do you think I started wondering if I had any business even sitting for my N.E.W.T.s? You've told me time and time again, I have to _mean_ it when I invoke the rite with you! Just like I could have yielded in that graveyard, and didn't! Why do you think I've just been _letting_ you touch me and kiss my neck and do whatever the hell else you take it into your head to do? Because I really am that brave, noble Gryffindor everybody _thinks_ I am? It's because I screwed up royally once, and every night when I go to sleep I get a fresh reminder not to do it again!"

"Ah. Well, that explains some things," Snape murmured. "I must admit, I had expected somewhat more resistance on your part. Especially on Saturday. Instead, it seemed you were trying."

"I bloody well am trying, _Severus_."

Snape's dark eyes were hooded as he slowly replied, "Yes, I can see that."

"I wasn't right at first," Harry admitted. "Well, not as much as I could have, I don't think. But every time I wake up now, it's like the message has sunk in more, or something. Like I _get_ it better. It was just on Sunday when it occurred to me that I was probably being stupid, studying for any career-tracking exams."

"Hmm. You are going to do whatever I say, then, Harry? Willingly?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, defensive. It wasn't his fault if the word came out sounding disgusted, was it? He was doing his level best.

"Good. I want an objective measure of your skills in all the domains of magic you've been studying, so you're to take your revision seriously and do your best on your N.E.W.T.s. All of them, Harry. Even Potions."

He did bang his head against the wall again. But he also nodded.

"Also, I want you to take a dose of Dreamless Sleep every night. You may think this dream is helping make you more pliant for _Podentes_ , but weeks of not getting enough sleep is going to interfere with your studies, which still do matter. Besides, that particular nightmare has told you all it's going to. Now it's just making you frantic."

"Dreamless Sleep every night," Harry echoed, though he grimaced. "For how long?"

"Repressing your dreams isn't healthy in the long-term. Try it just until you're through with your exams. Then skip a night and let me know how it goes."

"All right," Harry agreed, biting down on a sarcastic urge to add something more, like _Yes, master_. Realizing he was still holding the vial, he slipped it into a pocket.

"Now, take off your cloak and come here," Snape instructed, stretching out his legs. "Sit down next to me."

 _It's wicked cold in here,_ Harry wanted to say. _Can't we at least go back to your rooms? Or is this another test? I've just blathered on about how hard I'm trying, so now you want to see if I mean a word of it?_

He silently lowered himself beside Snape, intending to cross his legs again, because that at least would afford a little space between them, but the older man put a firm hand on his knees and moved his legs to align them with his own, then sidled over until they were pressed up against each other, ankle to hip. Harry bit his own lip to keep from saying something about that.

Snape spread Harry's cloak over both their legs, then unhooking his own and tugging on it, wrapped it around Harry's shoulders as well as his own, and pulled him close against his side. He pressed the young man's cheek against his chest, just beneath his chin, and one arm wrapped around him, just held him for a moment.

It was still cold in the tunnel, but pressed up against Snape with their cloaks covering them, Harry began to feel warmer. Yet still he shivered.

"I'm bloody well trying too," Severus suddenly announced in sardonic tones. "I wonder if you realise that."

Well of course Harry realised _that._ He'd have to be completely brainless not to, and whatever insults Snape liked to douse him with, Harry did in fact possess some intelligence. Snape thought he was an ugly runt and found the whole prospect of _taking_ him repugnant; he'd said as much. 

"Yeah, I know you are," Harry admitted, shuddering. He didn't want Snape to find him attractive, certainly; that would be just too creepy. Still, the prospect of baring himself to someone who could hardly stand the sight wasn't exactly enthralling, either. "You told me, yeah. You didn't ask for this."

"I didn't," Snape agreed, sliding a hand beneath the cloak to rest it against Harry's trouser-clad thigh. Harry drew in a harsh breath, and tried to pretend it wasn't there. "I'm actually trying to help you learn not to rebel, is that clear to you? It's difficult to gauge how much contact you can tolerate without... your courage failing."

He moved his hand up toward Harry's hip, and it was all Harry could do not to squirm away. "I think my courage is about to fail right now," he said in a shaking voice as Snape's lean, long fingers began to slide beneath the waistband of his trousers. "Cast _Sensatus--_ "

"Not until Saturday," Snape whispered, that hand inching downwards, over his hip again, this time nothing between skin and skin but a thin layer of cotton pants. The fingers teased his hipbone, learning its contours. "You can do this, Harry."

"I... I wouldn't be so sure," Harry murmured, his teeth beginning to chatter, but not from cold. Every instinct he had was shouting out at him to shove Snape away, to run as fast as he could, but there was nowhere to run _to_ , in any sense he could name. He was trapped in the tunnel, with no way out until Snape incanted the spell, tightly held against the man's chest, and pinioned by the prophecy, besides. 

"Oh yes, you can do this," Snape whispered, dropping a brief, almost impersonal kiss against his temple. "Because I am trying too, to help you through it. You will be able to do everything _Podentes_ requires of you, Harry. You just aren't ready yet."

He withdrew his hand as he spoke, and Harry almost convulsed with relief.

 _"Nox,_ " Snape quietly whispered, and the slight glow from his wand vanished altogether. "We'll go back to something you did well with, before. No doubt you'll be relieved to know I won't be demanding your shirt."

A weak laugh caught on Harry's teeth, but it was cut short as Snape adjusted their position, moving Harry lower against his chest, then bending his head to begin kissing his neck. "Relax," he said between teasing nibbles. "You know how. Yes...."

Harry pretended he was meditating, drawing in those deep breaths that had helped him last time. _In through the nose, out through the mouth..._ he focussed his attention on that, and not on what Snape was doing to him, and managed not to tense up.

Fingers threaded themselves through his hair, massaging his scalp, gently tugging his head a bit more sideways to bare more of his neck. The fingers moved to his collar, loosening his tie, unfastening the top button on his shirt. Tugging the fabric aside, that action almost rough. Almost... urgent.

The slow kisses against his neck lost all semblance of care at the same time. Snape was clutching him with both hands, the pressure fierce, and his cool lips parted fully to drench Harry's sensitive skin with the heat of his mouth, his tongue expertly playing against a tendon, caressing it until Harry forgot to focus on his breathing, forgot to breathe out, just kept sucking in tiny puffs of air though his lungs were already bursting. 

The lips moved to his face, grazing along his cheekbone, and brushed the side of his mouth.

The tension just too much, Harry lost control of his resolve and started to shove.

"Hmm, too soon then," Snape murmured in a strange tone almost reminiscent of regret. But that made sense, didn't it? He'd as good as said that he'd rather get all this over with, that it was difficult for him to take all this time to gentle Harry through it. "Relax again." And when Harry didn't, he announced in a hard tone, "That was actually an order. Try to obey it."

Harry did, closing his eyes in the dark, leaning clutched against Snape as the older man went back to laving his nape with kisses and carding fingers through his hair, stroking the strands scalp to tip, scalp to tip...

But then it was over, and Snape was yanking him to his feet, thrusting his cloak at him with a deprecating, "You could have cast a cleaning charm before you slumped to the filthy floor, you know."

A hurried incantation... Hindustani, maybe, Harry didn't know, and Snape was dragging him through the opening that appeared, not letting go of his sleeve until they were out in the parlour again. The older man pushed him toward the Floo with only a gruff, "Tomorrow, then."

Harry shifted on his feet, feeling somewhat dazed by the sudden shift from those slow, caressing kisses to this virtual _get out_. "Um, my books," he murmured, feeling like a complete idiot. "I left them--"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin!" Snape erupted. "Can you possibly be any more of a pest?"

"Well, just tell me the password and I'll go get them!" Harry retorted. 

"It's an incantation, not a password, you imbecile," Snape groused. "Did you see a guardian?"

"The snake!"

"Seven years at Hogwarts and he can't tell the difference between a guardian and a work of art!" 

Harry ground his teeth together, interpreting Snape's attitude the only way he could. It must have been _very_ unpleasant for the man to hold him close and treat him with something approaching care, there in the dark tunnel. "Well, teach me the _incantation,_ " he snarled, "and I'll get my books and be on my way, _sir!_ "

" _SEVERUS!_ "

"Arsehole, more like it," Harry sniped, and immediately wished he hadn't, because the moment the word was out, a look of profound fury lit up the other man's eyes. They blazed with black intent, and though Harry didn't know what Snape was likely to do, he was pretty sure he wouldn't like it.

 _Got that one right,_ Harry thought as the man shoved him back against a tapestry, much as he'd done before in the Potions lab, only this time, his hands weren't pinioned at his sides, and Snape wasn't biting the top of his ear. The older man had clamped both his hands above his head, grinding them against the fabric of the tapestry, and he was _kissing his mouth_ , and not in any gentle, coaxing way, either. His lips pried Harry's open, his teeth enforcing the command, and then he was devouring him, a furnace of heat and anger pouring over them both as he shoved his whole body against Harry's, and taught him to submit.

Ten seconds, maybe fifteen. Harry couldn't breathe, could barely even think, though some small part of his mind was whispering, _wet wouldn't be the first word to come to mind to describe  this, now would it? _No, it wouldn't, he realised. _Hot_ , maybe. Or _all-consuming..._

He didn't get to think about it for long, though, because after just a moment more, the kiss was suddenly over, Snape stepping back and smoothing his robes with flicking motions of his hands, just as though removing vermin. He glanced at Harry, contempt in the curl of his lip, outright abhorrence gleaming in his eyes, and scathed, "Is _that_ your idea of willing compliance, then? Calling me loathsome names?"

The kiss made sense, then. Just one more punishment. Harry wanted to just crumple to the floor and let it swallow him, though he wasn't quite sure why he felt that way. So the kiss had been a punishment... big deal. It wasn't like he'd kissed the man back or anything. _That_ would have been truly humiliating. He straightened against the wall, rubbing his wrists reflexively, glancing down at them to see red marks where Snape had held them so tightly.

"You call me names all the time," he pointed out, calmly he thought.

"Were you under the misapprehension that ours was fated to be a relationship of equals?" Snape sneered.

Harry counted to ten. Then he counted to twenty, and forced himself to visit that place where his dreams always took him. "No, Severus."

Snape glared at him, clearly suspecting something, but Harry just stared back, his gaze more tired than anything else. 

"Wait here," his teacher finally said, and stalked off, reappearing in a few moments with a pile of books and parchment which he thrust into Harry's hands. "Go."

Harry nodded, and stepped into the Floo.

  
  
  
  


** Tuesday, May 19, 1998 ---- 9:54 p.m. **

Harry would have waited until he was alone in his room to take off his cloak, if he'd known what a furor it would cause. Ron was the first one to hoot and whistle. 

"Will you look at that?" he teased. "Tie askew, shirt half undone, a fair bit of muck on his cloak... Whatcha been up to, Harry?"

Ginny looked up from her game of Tarot Patience, her mouth catching on a little "oh," as she stared at his face and then his clothes. A tiny disappointed sob burst from her, and then she was running up the staircase to her room.

At that, Ron frowned. "Shite. Always thought she'd grow out of it." He glared a bit at Harry, then. "You could let her down easy, instead of saying you went to walk off your worries and coming back looking like _that_."

Hermione had the most awful look he'd ever seen on her face. Horrified pity, absolute anguish. Ron went to speak again, and she punched him in the arm, hard, but he brushed it off and made his way over to Harry. "Oh, don't mind Ginny," was his advice. "I always thought the two of you would get together but this is good too, whatever it is. High time you came in looking good and rumpled--"

Harry made a strangled sound and tried to push past Ron.

"No, no," said the other boy, grabbing onto his sleeve. "You've been depressed over Sirius for too long. It's not... well I know you said that things like romance just couldn't _mean_ anything after that, but honest, Harry, you haven't had a date since Cho. This is great, honest! Sorry I teased."

He might be _sorry_ , Harry thought, but that didn't stop Ron from launching right into another bout of teasing. He even waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "So, who's the lucky lady, huh? And where've you been? You sure do look well snogged, eh?"

Harry felt himself blushing a deep, dark red. 

"What, more than snogging?" Ron pressed. "Come on, you told us _all_ about Cho, not that there was much to tell--"

"Ron, shut _up!_ " Hermione finally erupted. 

Harry took advantage of the distraction to wrench his arm free from Ron. He ran up the stairs, but stopped at the first turning. It wasn't like his room was much of a sanctuary from Ron, after all. Besides, he wanted to hear what Hermione would say. If he'd have known earlier what Hermione had said to Snape about Potions, he might have been better prepared to endure an impromptu lab session, he thought caustically. 

"Ron!" Hermione's voice was scolding, and it sounded like she'd dragged Ron into a corner to have it out with him. "If he wanted to tell us, he would. So leave him alone!"

"Well at least now we know why he's always got a new reason to wander off, every night," Ron said, his voice completely unrepentant. He actually chortled a bit. "Hmm, think it's somebody from one of the other Houses? Eww, what if it's some girl down in Slytherin? You know what we should do? Nick his invisibility cloak some night and follow him, see who it is--"

"Stop it, Ronald! Stop this, right now! We're Harry's friends! If he's not comfortable having us know, yet, then we've got to respect that!"

"All right, all right," he muttered.

"I mean it! Don't you ask him! Don't you even mention it! I don't know what you blokes get to talking about, late at night in your room, but you leave this subject strictly alone!"

"For Merlin's sake, Hermione, we're not _girls,_ " Ron answered. Harry could almost see the way he would be rolling his eyes. "We don't go on and on about our love lives, you know."

"Good," Hermione retorted. 

Harry sighed with relief, and climbed the rest of the way to his dormitory.


	15. Chapter 15

 

 

** Wednesday, May 20, 1998 through Friday, May 22, 1998 **

The next few nights passed without much incident, a circumstance which Severus found positively baffling. The Potions lesson had been a vast mistake, and though their time spent talking in the tunnel had been of some benefit, Severus knew he'd largely negated it by losing his temper so quickly thereafter.

He hadn't meant to press the young man back into the wall and ravish his mouth, especially not so soon after learning in the tunnel that it really was too soon for something as personal as that. Most likely, Harry would need a few kisses with _Sensatus_ spelled across his lips before he'd be able to believe that the experience could indeed be pleasant. 

_Sensatus_ had certainly done a world of good when it came to feasting on the supple tanned flesh of Harry's neck. He didn't even always claim to need it now when Severus pulled him close beside the fire, or next to him on the settee, and began to lick at his nape and nibble his ears. Of course, he didn't quite _moan_ the same way as when under the spell, but that just meant that he was inhibited, knowing Severus was the one doing this to him. In time, he'd grow more used to their intimacy, and do more than just tolerate it. In time, he'd gasp instead of sticking to the deep breathing he kept falling into whenever Severus began to touch him.

For the rest of the week, Severus restricted himself to simply deepening Harry's level of comfort with the intimacies they'd broached thus far. Long massages in front of the fire, time spent learning to let Severus caress his bare back and chest. Kisses again. Never the mouth, though as the week wore on and he held Harry close to him each night, he strayed away from his neck to kiss his shoulders and back, feeling the tension in the young flesh as it strove to respond to him before Harry clamped his inhibitions down hard upon it. Hands, splayed against his abdomen to hold him tight, or wandering upward to stroke the muscles padding his chest, to lightly tease his small male nipples.

And Harry didn't resist, not any of it, not once. Not even on Friday night, when moving them further toward true intimacy, he turned Harry around to face him, and watched him this time as he spread salve across his chest and rubbed it in slow circles into his skin. Harry closed his eyes. He opened them again when Severus told him to, though he stared rather blankly at the tapestry over the older man's shoulder. The tapestry he'd been thoroughly kissed against... Remembering that brought back every bit of the throbbing, aching need Severus had felt for Harry that night, and it was all he could do not to push the young man back onto the hearth rug and kiss him again, properly this time; hot, fierce kisses that would make those green eyes blaze with desire...

But that was ludicrous, and Severus knew it. Harry hadn't felt desire the other time, he'd only felt shock. He wasn't ready yet; Severus had known that much in the dark passageway where they'd talked and touched. He wasn't ready, so Severus had to wait, but sometimes, the waiting played havoc with his temper. He'd snapped, at something as innocuous as Harry forgetting his books back in the lab. A meaningless mistake, but at the time, it had pushed him straight over the edge of patience, and it had suddenly seemed a good idea to simply take a kiss if Harry didn't care to give one. _Mmmm,_ and the young man has tasted every bit as good as Severus had fantasized, a tang of citrus and cinnamon lingering on his breath, his lips warm and firm, his body fitting easily into the larger curve of his own...

The night after that delicious kiss, Severus had gone to his office after dinner, and paced the room for an hour, telling himself that he wasn't nervous to see the young man again. No, certainly not. He simply wasn't quite sure what tack to take, after the previous night's events. He kept outlining different scenarios in his mind, considering and then rejecting them, for so long that by the time he stepped through the door to his quarters, Harry was already there.

Harry set the tone, actually. He was standing, leaning on a counter in the kitchen, a pile of those revolting little grey seeds near his hand, another pile of half-chewed pods collected on a napkin. He was casting _Lumos_ with his wand to illuminate the book before him, Herbology from the look of it, one hand steadily inserting and then extracting seeds from his mouth. Disgusting sight. Well, the seeds were. Everything else about the young man was quite nice to look at, and Severus couldn't help but notice that he'd taken off his tie and waistcoat already.

Harry had looked up at his footfall, his stance rather casual, but the tension in his eyes belied that impression. He was affecting normalcy, that was all, but Severus was grateful for it.

"I made myself at home, Severus," Harry merely said, shrugging a bit before he went back to reading, his wand still shining as he pointed it at the page.

Well, he knew the young man needed glasses, but his eyes weren't as weak as all that, surely? He was a seeker, after all, and quite a good one, for all Severus held that students needed Quidditch about as much as a Bedouin needed Gillyweed. "Is the light in here not adequate?" he questioned, and Harry glanced up, bemused.

"It's like a highlighter," he said, moving his wand to show how the tip was glowing slightly pink. "It helps me concentrate when I'm reading, though it doesn't mark the page."

"Highlighter," Severus repeated.

"Special kind of Muggle pen," Harry explained. "Um, a pen is like a quill--"

"I know what a pen is, thank you," Severus drolled. He wondered where Harry had gotten the spell; it wasn't often that a student performed one he hadn't seen. Then again, who would ever _want_ a pink _Lumos?_ "Will you join me in the parlour when you've finished eating your... seeds?" There, that hadn't been too ill-done of him; he'd even managed not to sneer _disgusting Muggle snack._

"Sure," Harry tossed out, swinging his wand back to his page, his entire demeanor still that careful _casualness_. Severus could tell he was projecting it deliberately. For the moment, though, that was fine.

Wednesday, Thursday, Friday... Harry kept it up, acting as though the kiss had never happened, apparently doing his pliant best to live up to the warning in his dream. He studied what Severus said to study, though that didn't mean much since Severus had enough good sense not to suggest Potions again. The physical things meant more. He doffed his shirt without complaining, and moved his body as Severus said, and let the older man touch and kiss him. For hours on some nights, and without _Sensatus_. And when they were through, he did up his clothes and left, but never once until Severus said he could.

It was almost eerie. Surely so much submission, so fast, wasn't quite right? Severus was doing his best to further it, of course, by not asking for too much from Harry, but he was starting to think that there was more to this than just his own good judgment. It worried him, because if Harry was forcibly repressing his true instincts to this extent, then his self-control was bound to snap violently at some unexpected moment.

Such as during the invocation, the first point at which his willing obedience truly mattered.

When their Friday evening had drawn to a close, Severus handed Harry his stack of books and quietly reminded him not to bring them the next day. Harry just nodded, and said "Yes, Severus," and stood perfectly still while Severus drew a hand across his cheek. The young man had that blank, unnatural look in his eyes, like he was willing himself to be someone else. 

Someone who could stand being touched this way. 

More disturbed than ever, Severus stepped forward, leaning down, and settled his lips softly against the edge of Harry's mouth, just as he'd done in the tunnel. Then, the action had precipitated a rather significant reaction, but this time, Harry didn't even stiffen. He just stood mute, his breathing going into the deep rhythm Severus recognised, and let himself be kissed. Not even when Severus slid his dry lips fully onto his and teased them did he object, or ask for _Sensatus_. Actually, he hadn't asked for the spell since that night in the passageway, though before that he'd had no trouble asking for it.

Definitely, something had changed. Severus broke off the gentle kiss, and told Harry to go. After the young man had Flooed away, Severus sank into a chair and pondered what to do.


	16. Chapter 16

 

 

** Saturday, May 23, 1998 ---- 8:11 a.m. **

"Harry," Hermione said the next morning at breakfast, "Will you come out to the lake with me? I'd like to talk with you."

Feeling like a bit of his muffin had stuck deep in his throat, Harry swigged some juice. "Uh... I have a lot to do today, actually. You know, the N.E.W.T.s start on Monday."

"This is more important than exams," Hermione quietly asserted.

Once upon a time, Harry would have laughed out loud to hear Hermione say that. Now, he wished she'd concentrate on her studies and nothing but, since he knew full well what she wanted to talk with him about. Unlike Ron, _she_ knew he didn't have a girlfriend. The look in her eyes that night in the common room... the sheer suffering in her expression... oh yes. She knew just who was responsible for his rumpled clothes and swollen lips.

"You can't help me with this," Harry said, shaking his head. "And really, we shouldn't be talking about it at all. You know what's at stake."

"That's why I suggested the lake."

"Hermione--"

"I've waited four days," she interrupted. "But I'm not waiting any longer. If you won't talk to me, I'll go to the headmaster and tell him what you looked like that night."

Harry glared at her. What did she think she was, a Slytherin, blackmailing her friends? Well, there was only one way to deal with threats, wasn't there? Confront them head on. "Go ahead," he tightly advised. "The password this week is _Travelling Toffees_. He really keeps up with Fred and George's latest innovations. Have a nice chat."

Hermione set her spoon down with a thud and pushed her oatmeal away. "You don't care if Professor Dumbledore knows what that..." She lowered her voice to a bare whisper. "What you're being made to do?"

"He knows," Harry dully acknowledged, fixing his eyes on the table.

"Well then I'll confront _the professor involved_ ," she hissed.

Since Snape had been known to carry his personal grudges into the classroom, to say the least, --witness the way he'd smashed one of Harry's potions fifth year-- Harry felt on firm ground predicting, "He'll fail you for the entire term."

"Harry, if you don't know that you're more important to me than grades, you really _are_ a bit dim," Hermione retorted. "I'll go see him straight away." Pushing back on her bench, she stood and smartly turned toward the doors.

Harry had no doubt that she'd head straight down to the dungeons to have it out with Snape. And considering that the _last_ time she'd interfered, he'd been subjected to the Potions lesson from Hell... He clenched his fists in frustration. He'd finally figured out how to handle the situation! The past few days with Snape had been... well, not fun, he had to admit. But at least they'd been placid. There hadn't been a recurrence of that violent kiss.

The last thing he wanted was Hermione interfering again and putting Snape into one of his more unpleasant moods.

"All right," Harry groused, tugging on the sleeve of her cloak to make her sit back down. "Fine, the lake. But I have to be elsewhere by ten, so it's not like I can talk all day."

"Let's go now, then."

"I have to get something from the Tower," Harry explained, frowning. "I'll meet you near the big craggy rock."

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 23, 1998 ---- 8:28 a.m. **

He was strongly tempted to dawdle, but Hermione would see through that. She'd just demand yet another talk, and she'd get one, too, because there was no way Harry was going to let her broach the issue with Snape. It would just disrupt the accord of sorts they'd managed to achieve. Besides, Hermione didn't know it, but there was really nothing here that could be fixed. _Podentes_ was what it was, and when it came right down to it, Snape was just as stuck as he was.

She was sitting in the meadow, shaded by the craggy rock when he arrived and dropped down cross-legged in front of her. "We need to ward the area before we discuss a thing," Harry cautioned her.

Hermione flushed a bit, and strangely replied, "Well, you'd better do it. I have it on good authority that my spells are wholly inadequate."

"Sounds like Snape," Harry murmured, waving his wand to delineate an small area surrounding them and casting several overlapping charms. "All right, that should do it."

After that, he didn't really know how to start, and neither did Hermione. She made a vague gesture with her hands, then shook her head as if aware she needed to start over. "Harry...."

"I have to sleep with him," Harry heard himself baldly blurting out.

"He makes you _sleep_ with him?" Hermione gasped. "Oh, that man is so _evil!_ "

Harry closed his eyes, strangely aware that he didn't really agree with that. Well, not in the way Hermione meant, anyway. "I said that wrong," he slowly admitted. "I didn't mean he's making me, exactly. Well, not yet anyway. Oh God, I'm not explaining this very well. He doesn't even _want_ to, Hermione. It's the spell."

"The spell." Her gaze sought his out, though Harry tried his best to avoid it.

"Yeah, here," he said, giving up. Part of him really didn't want to let her read the précis, but he'd fetched it from the Tower, figuring he find things hard without it. Fishing it from the pocket of his jeans, he thrust the folded parchments at her. "This explains all about _Cambiare Podentes_. Snape wrote it."

"Hmm," she merely said, and then for a long while, there was no sound but the shifting of parchments and Hermione's gasps and groans. Nervous about her reaction, Harry had to resist a strong urge to leave her to read alone. But that would just mean he'd have to go through this again. Once was more than enough.

The first thing she said surprised him.

"What makes you think this is true, any of it?"

Harry shrugged. "When he gave me that to read, he told me that we'd have to discuss the matter once I understood it. He offered to invite the headmaster to our discussions, Hermione, if I felt too uncomfortable about... everything. So unless you think Professor Dumbledore is in on it, you have to take what Snape wrote at face value."

"I suppose," she murmured, tearing out tufts of grass in her agitation. "You... Harry, you're going to invoke this with him? Do everything this says?"

"Everything he says, more like," Harry sighed. "Yes. What do you expect me to do? It's like I said in the Great Hall--"

"I know what's at stake," Hermione quietly finished. She picked up the parchment sheets and looked through them again, her eyes rapidly scanning the neatly quilled text. "What's this part here, something about why the... er, Sex Magic is so vital in your particular situation? Did you ask him about that, like it says?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, wondering what to say. "Um, Snape explained that to me, but it's really his personal business he was telling me, so I can't repeat what he said."

Hermione sighed. "I heard Binns say _enslavement_ but I never guessed it would be anything like this."

"Me neither, but it is, and there's not much I can do about it. You don't want me to die, do you? Or watch Voldemort wipe out everybody but purebloods?"

Hermione huffed at him. "It's just, you looked so _tousled_ that night. Tousled and upset about it."

"Yeah, I said something I shouldn't have, and he punished me for it."

"What kind of punishment is a kiss?" At his look, she added, "Yes, it was obvious."

"Well, it's his idea of one, I guess," Harry admitted, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around his legs. "Anyway, it worked. I don't want him to do it again, so I started um... just being really careful around him, I guess would be the best way to explain it."

"But if this is correct," again she indicated the précis, "he _is_ going to do it again."

Harry thought of saying that sex didn't necessarily have to include kissing, but the images that called forth were so tawdry he didn't want to put them into words. Besides, by then he had a pretty good sense that it wouldn't be true, either, or at least, not with Snape. "Not like that," he said instead. "That night... the same day you fussed at him over my Potions exam, by the way, he was punishing me, like I said. He made it... violent. But he isn't usually like that." Harry gulped in a breath, and laid his cheek on the top of his bent knee.

"Oh, Harry..." Hermione reached out and tufted his hair.

"It's not so bad," he insisted, hating her pity, though he rather liked the fact that she would still touch him, even knowing... "I mean, it was really difficult at first, but the last few days, I figured out how to make it work. I mean, how to get through it."

Hermione just kept stroking his hair, prompting him without a word.

"Well, it's easy really," Harry confided. "I don't know why I didn't think of it before. Well, actually that's probably because he hadn't punished me, not really." After all, he didn't count the matter of making him undress that first night, not now that taking off his shirt was just a regular part Snape touching him.

"And so?" That time her prompting was verbal.

Harry frowned slightly, trying to put it into words that would make sense to someone like her, someone who'd grown up in a normal family. "Long story, but you know how my aunt and uncle aren't exactly a walk in the park, right? Well, I just got used to acting a certain way around them, that's all, because if I upset them, I'd get pretty severely punished. I'd just... sort of stop thinking, if that makes sense. Every summer, it would take me a while to remember how to do it, but usually it just took one bad beating, and it would come back to me."

Now it was Harry restlessly tearing up patches of grass. Hermione stared at that, concerned. "I thought the Order members looked out for you, the last couple of summers?"

"Oh. Well, they tried," Harry had to give them credit. "But you know, Dumbledore wouldn't agree to take me out of there unless I was in more danger _there_ than from Voldemort. And how likely was that? It's not like my uncle ever cracked my head open, or anything."

Hermione stopped patting his head and took his hands in hers, brushing aside the mangled strands of grass all around. "You've had an awful, awful time," she admitted. "I don't know all of it, but I'm sure of that much. But what is this about your being able to stop thinking? How does that help?"

"Oh, easy," Harry said again. Well, it was. He'd gotten plenty of practice at the Dursleys'. "I just go into this mood, I guess, where I don't _care_ , Hermione. I know, you're going to tell me that sounds mental--"

"That would be Ron's line."

"Yeah. You'll say it isn't healthy, I bet. But it beats getting punished, I learned that the hard way. I just move into this state where it doesn't matter to me what I'm told to do. I just... do it. It's what got me through scrubbing the kitchen floor five times in a row because the first four times weren't good enough, or spending an entire week washing windows. I'd just..."

"Do it," Hermione supplied.

"Without thinking about it. Because if I don't think, I can't say something rude, or complain, and then I wouldn't get punished."

"And this works with Professor Snape?" She sounded rather doubtful.

"Well, it's worked okay since I started it on Wednesday."

"Harry... is he treating you all right? I mean, really?"

Harry stopped to think about it. "Yeah, I guess he is. I mean, he's really intent on this idea that I have to be... er, willing, to make this all work, so he's um..." His blush was so deep he could feel it flooding him. "Actually, it's sort of like he's trying to seduce me."

Hermione stifled a sound deep in her throat.

"Really, it is," Harry insisted. "The first full day I spent there, he gave me wine, and then when it sort of went to my head, he gave me a hangover cure and had me sleep it off. And then... oh God, you have _no_ idea how scared I was, cause I knew I was there for him to get um, physical with me, but all he did was give me a backrub and kiss my neck."

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief. He never would have believed that _telling_ her this would help him feel better, but it did. He felt less alone, for one thing. And somehow when he had to look consciously back and sum up the way Snape had been acting, he realised it wasn't anything near as bad as he had imagined... and feared.

Hermione looked like she really didn't get that, but of course she was still heavily involved in the struggle for house-elf rights, so she was hardly likely to approve of a _Podentes_ enslavement, was she?

"Snape even tried to tutor me in Potions after you talked to him," Harry added.

She glanced up, her eyes a bit bright with repressed tears. "That's... well, that's something, I suppose. But he said he won't let you work. Did you know that?"

"It's in his summary, remember? The _binding contract_ won't let me work."

"Oh, right," she murmured, clearly having forgotten. And _that_ wasn't like Hermione at all.

"It's okay, really," Harry assured her. "I can't say I'm happy or anything, but really, it could be worse. A lot worse."

"You..." Hermione swallowed, and nervously pulled her hair back into a ponytail, then twisted and twisted it. "Um, you can talk to me, you know. About anything. Even after... er, you get more involved in this, if you need to talk... I'm here. Really. I mean it. About anything."

"You know," Harry whispered, leaning up against the rock, "I was just thinking that talking kind of helped. But it's hard for me to imagine talking about, you know."

"Yes, but I said anything, not just _you-know,_ " Hermione reminded him.

"Right." Harry stood up, and folded the parchment sheets back into his pocket. They were getting pretty creased and rumpled, but he didn't figure that mattered much. "I need a promise now, Hermione. No talking to anybody--"

"As if I would!"

"No, that wasn't what I meant." Harry reached down and gave her a hand up, then pulled her into a swift hug. "I trust you. More than anybody, do you know that? What I meant was, you're concerned. I understand that. But you have to resist the temptation to go rail at Snape again, okay? Or Merlin forbid, drag the headmaster in. He can't help, do you understand? He won't. Just like when I was at the Dursleys', the end result justifies the means. And last time you stuck up for me with Snape, it put him in a real nasty mood, which just makes things harder for me."

Hermione nodded, but that wasn't good enough for Harry. "I mean it," he continued, setting her at arm's length so he could see her expression better. "Suppose you see me come in looking like something happened again. Or you can tell I'm really upset. You have to come to me, you have to. _Just me,_ Hermione. Nobody else, not even Ron. I actually think if he figured this out, he might go completely nuts. Like, ending up in Azkaban nuts, you know?"

"Well, he'll know sooner or later," Hermione pointed out.

"We're not going to invoke until after graduation," Harry explained. "So at least Ron'll have to get all the way up here if he wants to um, try to save me. That'll give him time to think, cool down. Now, promise."

"Just you," Hermione promised.

"Good." Harry smiled at her, though he knew the effort was on the wan side. He wasn't actually very happy, but he was used to that. "I have to go now, ten guesses where. But don't worry about me. I don't think he'll beat me like Uncle Vernon used to."

"That's hardly a recommendation," Hermione dryly observed.

Harry took down the wards, then pocketed his wand. "I know it's not, but it's all I have. Anyway, don't worry. There's nothing you can do, anyway."

With that, they began to walk back up the hill towards the castle.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 23, 1998 ---- 9:55 a.m. **

Harry prepared himself to go visit Snape that morning in much the same way he'd been doing since Wednesday. At first, he had been really upset--and worried--about that punishing kiss, but that was because he'd been thinking mostly about the _kiss_ aspect of it instead of the more obvious purpose it had served: punishment.

Okay, so he shouldn't have called the man an _arsehole_. At least, not to his face. Serious miscalculation, there.

So, Snape had punished him. It even made a twisted kind of sense _how_ he'd punished him; he'd used it as an opportunity to sort of push them ahead in the get-used-to-me plan the man seemed to be following. Just as when he'd made Harry take off his tie and waistcoat, or later, his sweatshirt. And though the kiss had no doubt been physical, it was far and above more like a psychological punishment, a way to push his buttons and see how he reacted. 

Yeah, it figured that Snape would do a thing like that. He liked to throw people off balance during class, too, springing weird questions at unsuspecting students, prowling around the room to induce nervousness if not heart failure, speaking from just behind your shoulder when you didn't even know he was there. 

Once Harry understood what was going on down there in the dungeons, he felt much better equipped to deal with it. Like he'd told Hermione, he just had to slip into the calm apathy he'd learned to adopt over the summers. He just had to drift from command to command, and not worry about where it was all going. Because then, he could cope.

So, he took a few deep breaths in the headmaster's office, and stretched his arms over his head, linking his fingers together and pushing up and back hard to work any kinks from his spine, then stretched to each side as well, until he felt loose, and limber, and relaxed. He put on a placid expression, and told himself that whatever happened, he'd be back in Gryffindor before curfew. That whatever happened, he'd get through it.

This time, he could tell himself one more comforting thing, as well: whatever happened, he could talk to Hermione. Well, if he wanted to. But it was nice to know that she was there, it really was.

 _Ready for slave practice,_ he thought, and stepped into the fireplace.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 23, 1998 ---- 10:00 a.m. **

Well, he'd _thought_ he was ready for it, but the first thing Snape said to him was so completely bizarre that at first, he didn't think he'd heard him right. It was one thing to tell him to go back up and get his cloak. After all, he'd ended up needing his cloak that night. But this?

"Go change into a different colour shirt," Snape said, looking him up and down, a bit of a sneer on his lips.

"A... different colour shirt," Harry repeated, nonplussed. He was about to ask why, but three days worth of falling into his biddable routine had pulled a lot of summer memories forth, and he remembered that asking _why_ was pretty much equivalent to asking for trouble. The usual answer was _Because I said so,_ which wasn't worth hearing, and which invariably came with a stiff clout to the side of his head.

Not that Snape would hit him; Harry realised he wasn't worried about that. Snape's punishment would be something worse; something that smacked of intimacy.

So instead of asking _why_ , Harry merely clarified, "Um, any particular colour?"

Snape gave him a strange look, like he'd expected something else, though he did answer. Pretty predictable answer, too. "Green."

Of course. Not that Harry's _blue_ sweatshirt was so very Gryffindor as to bring House allegiances to mind, but still, it figured.

"All right," Harry said, and Flooed back up.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 23, 1998 ---- 10:18 a.m. **

Hermione was reading in the common room when he walked back through. Her eyebrows rose with surprise, her lips forming the words, _So soon?_

Harry just shrugged and beckoned her with a hand. 

When they'd reached his room--thank goodness all his mates were out doing something fun on a warm Saturday morning--Harry closed the door and made a gesture with his hand to indicate it wasn't warded and they had to be careful how they phrased things. When Hermione nodded, he quirked her a small smile and admitted, "Apparently I need a different shirt."

With that, he shrugged off his sweatshirt and began hunting in his wardrobe. 

Hermione stared. "You're having me on."

"No, no, I had it on good authority that only green would do."

"Green!"

Harry held up the one green shirt he had. It wasn't something he'd usually wear on a Saturday morning, but at least it wasn't as formal as his white uniform shirts. This was a button-up shirt as well, but collarless. Actually, Harry really liked it but given that it was green, he didn't wear it very much. Too much teasing about his inner Slytherin.

Hermione had gotten over her shock enough to giggle. 

"Yeah, go ahead and laugh," Harry grumbled as he began to shrug into it. "You aren't the one who's going to have to just take it off again for the inevitable backrub."

She pressed the side of her hand against her mouth. "Um, you only mentioned one of those, before. Are they so frequent?"

Harry stared, a little surprised by her forthrightness, but figured that she was trying to make sure he understood he could tell her _anything_. And more and more, he was beginning to appreciate that. "Yeah, frequent. Every single time," he explained.

She swallowed back her laugh, that time. "Are they at least um.... good?"

Harry glared at her. "Why are you in such a good mood? Down at the lake you didn't think this was so funny."

"I know," Hermione lost her smile, though a bit of humour still glowed in her eyes. "It's just... change your shirt, Harry? It's such a stupid way to test you, that's all."

"Test me." Harry didn't like the sound of that. Too much like the Dursleys.

"Well, you don't really think that green is the true issue, do you? By the way, that's really nice on you. Brings out your eyes."

"Oh, thanks," Harry drawled, tucking the shirt in and glancing in the mirror to see that he hadn't missed any part of the hem. 

"Well, it _does_ ," Hermione insisted.

Harry shrugged, feeling like he was forgetting something. Hmm, Saturday. Snape had said something about Saturday... _Don't bring your books..._ no, something else...

"Oh," he exclaimed. "Just as well I had to come back up here." Fishing deep in his trunk, he found his Gringotts key, then fetched the bank's letter from the drawer in his night-table. "I'm supposed to bring these."

Hermione didn't have a vault, but recognised the key readily enough from all the times she'd been with her friends to Diagon Alley. "The property," she murmured, losing all trace of humour. "That must really hurt."

"You don't know the half of it," Harry murmured. "Hmm, but I'll tell you later, okay? I'd better get back."

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 23, 1998 --- 10:37 a.m. **

"That took longer than it should have," Snape rebuked him.

Harry concentrated on flicking the fireplace ashes off his shoulders, noticing how they vanished before they hit the floor. Nice spell, that. He idly wondered how often it had to be renewed. 

"Did you take a detour?" Snape pressed, his voice deep as ever but somehow nuanced oddly. Like he was pushing for something. Harry didn't understand it.

"No, but I talked to Hermione for a minute," he said. "Oh, and I realised I had to find my key." Diving his hand in his front jeans pocket, he tried to pull it and the Gringotts letter out, but ended up pulling out the précis instead.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You're carrying that around with you?"

Since Harry didn't think it would go over well to say he'd been showing it to anybody, he raised his shoulders and murmured, "Well, yeah. I can't just leave it in my dormitory. What if somebody found it?"

"It can only be read in your immediate presence, as I believe I did in fact mention?"

"Oh right, you did. Sorry, sir... um, I mean Severus."

"Don't apologize, it's no matter," the man scathed, looking him up and down. "Hmm. I suppose it will do. So. Did you eat a decent amount at breakfast this morning, or were you too wracked with worries to put food in your mouth?"

"I had waffles and sausage," Harry answered levelly, his eyes looking around but not really seeing.

"So then," Snape continued, "has the Potion been effective? Your dreams have ceased? You are taking it every night as I said?"

"Yes."

"Pity," Snape strangely remarked.

Harry raised an eyebrow as he went to take his usual place on the settee. He realised he'd sort of been waiting for Snape to indicate what his plan was, but of course _that_ wasn't going to happen, was it?

"Yes, pity," Snape murmured, standing still, studying him closely. "If you've been abstaining as I've said, you should be starting to have some interesting dreams by now, but of course the Dreamless Sleep will repress those entirely. _Have_ you done as I've said?"

Harry had a strange feeling that there was more going on here than he understood. "Yes," he murmured, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Might as well, since he didn't know what Snape wanted.

"Really," Snape needled him, but Harry refused to let himself get riled.

"Yes, really," he calmly said. 

"And that doesn't bother you?"

"Hmm. Well, some, I suppose. I mean, I think I'm probably normal."

"How long has it been since you last experienced orgasm?" 

Harry couldn't help it; his eyes snapped open at the question. A number of retorts danced through his mind. _None of your sodding business... What the hell does that matter... How long since you had one, you greasy old git? _and the one that he was really, really tempted to say, _Huh, orgasm? What's that?_ But when he looked up, Snape's eyes were gleaming with fierce black intent, a sneer curling his lip already, and Harry just knew that the question was a trap. Or a test, like Hermione had said. For some reason, Snape was shoving at him and seeing if Harry would shove back. 

Well, he wouldn't, because there wasn't much point when he'd just end up getting smashed against the wall and kissed. Or worse. 

"Um, two and half weeks, something like that," he answered, closing his eyes again. _That was it, just drift. Answer whatever he want, do whatever he wants, just drift through it until he lets you drift back over to the Tower._

Snape made a strange growling noise, so Harry opened his eyes again. Strangely enough, the man looked more upset now than when he'd hesitated in answering. Then his gaze took on a positively feral gleam, as though he'd hit upon an idea he liked. Some test that would push Harry past his limits; nothing simple like fetching another shirt.

"Come into my library," Snape smoothly instructed, his expression satisfied already, as though he knew something Harry didn't. "And bring your Gringotts letter. We have business to conduct."

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 23, 1998 ---- 10:48 a.m. **

Severus watched the young man get up, those green eyes bright with wariness. Well, that was something, at least. This utterly submissive Harry was a strange, disconcerting sight, and Severus didn't like it. More than that, it _wasn't_ the real Harry Potter, wasn't anything like him, which meant that of course it couldn't last.

Severus intended to shock him out it, because while _Podentes_ might require obedience from the young man, it didn't require him to be so cowed he couldn't even speak his mind. Besides, as Severus had concluded before, this effort of Harry's was actually dangerous. Nobody could keep up an act like this for long. It would snap on its own, but if Severus didn't control the timing, it might do so during the invocation. _Might?_ Severus frowned. He knew far more than he had written in the précis. Invoking _Podentes_ required Harry to participate in some fairly humiliating behaviour. It _would_ put an end to his pretence at slavery, or whatever it was he thought he was doing.

He'd thought that demanding something wholly irrational, like a change of shirt, would cause Harry to make a caustic comment. Failing that, surely a frank discussion of sex would make him at least blush, and stammer, and try to evade answering. Or so Severus had believed. It had been all he could do not to sigh as he'd wondered just what to do to break through this bizarre slavish persona Harry had adopted. 

But then he'd spotted the crumpled précis on the table, and remembered Harry's comment about bringing his key, which called to mind the young man's vast unease about giving all his gold away. He'd even put that in his list of questions: _Can we have an agreement that I get it all back?_

Perhaps the way to the real Harry Potter was through the things his father had left him.

Severus led the way to his library and seated himself behind his desk, gesturing for Harry to pull another over from the dining alcove. When Harry was across from him, a vast expanse of smoothly lacquered ironwood between them, he merely queried, "You studied the contents of your vault?"

"Yeah." Harry pulled the letter from his pocket, then spread it out and put his key where indicated. A short list of assets, along with some explanations, appeared beneath a drawing of a grim-faced, scowling goblin who impatiently tapped his foot. "Um, there's deeds to more than one house, here. Never knew about any of them, really. And something called a Pursel rod."

Severus raised a brow. "It's for detecting poisons. And the financial accounting?"

"Oh, tons of Galleons," Harry tossed out. "Hmm, it's a little hard to tell, the way they worded the last paragraph, but I think the vault's been earning a lot more in interest than I've been spending, these past seven years."

"A Hogwarts education comes at considerable expense, so that's hard to believe," Severus murmured. Reaching out, he took the paper from Harry's hand, careful to keep the key in contact with it. A bit disappointing, really, that Harry didn't react even to that. It was quite ill-done, Severus knew; he should have asked to see it. Even the goblin knew that; he was shaking a chiding finger, now. But unless Harry said something, the letter's guardian wouldn't unspell the words filling the page.

Well, if Harry wouldn't react to rudeness on Severus' part, perhaps he could be taunted out of his slave persona. "Hmm, James certainly did have a great deal of money," Severus remarked. "The total here is really quite astounding. I'll finally be able to add another wing onto my manor house."

No reaction. In fact, Harry's whole posture in the chair changed to be slightly more casual, if anything. He was putting on a show of being at ease, of being _all right_ with everything, when Severus knew full well that he had strong feelings about the matter. 

"Your father always thought his gold could buy him anything he wanted, you know," Severus tried, putting on his own show of being at ease as he stroked his fingers down the Gringotts letter as though deeply enraptured by the thought of all that money. "I suppose in large measure, he was right. It was certainly a large part of his appeal for Lily. Well, that and the pure blood. You saw for yourself how she could hardly stand him on his own merits."

Still, no reaction, though it didn't escape him that Harry's gaze had gone carefully blank. Severus was strongly tempted to slap him out of it. He remembered a defiant young man confidently asserting, _My dad did not strut,_ glaring at Severus for even suggesting such a thing. This willingness to take on insult wasn't like Harry at all. Especially insults about his parents.

If insults had no impact, though, perhaps something else would. It was time to plunge Harry into the ugly reality of giving away all that gold. 

"Write an order to Gringotts," Severus brusquely commanded, shoving parchment and quill across the desk. "Begin: _I, Harry James Potter, do hereby instruct Gringotts Wizarding Bank to transfer on June seventeenth of this year all contents of my vault into the vault numbered three hundred forty seven, assigned to Severus Snape. As I do not care to pay a vault maintenance fee, I instruct you to close my vault and offer it to any interested parties. I will owl my key to you on the date previously indicated. The keyspell below and binding oath of authenticity complete this authorization._ "

"Now," Severus said, taking up the key, "put this below the writing, your hand on top of it. I'm going to incant the keyspell. The first time I pause, you need to read out loud everything you have written. When you finish that, you need to answer the questions I ask clearly and honestly. Is that all clear?"

"Yeah, read and answer."

Severus drew his wand and tapped each of Harry's fingers as he held the key to the letter, then said, " _Veritas scribere et veritas signeo,_ " before glancing expectantly at the young man.

Harry read the order rather expressionlessly, though his eyes did widen slightly when, on the last word, the writing vanished completely.

"Are you Harry James Potter?" Severus asked.

"I am."

"Have you written out this order in your own hand?"

"I have."

"Is this order your uncontested wish?"

"It is."

 _"Veritas mostrato,_ " Snape finished, tossing him an envelope. "Give me your key now, and address that to Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Accounts Closures, Contents Confidential Under Key."

Harry did, which made Severus almost want to gnash his teeth. He was supposed to be arguing by now, saying that he didn't have to give up his key until the invocation required it... of course, Severus reflected, when Harry had made up his list of bloodline assets, giving away his gold had been the least of his worries. He'd fought far harder to keep the invisibility cloak and that _spare bit of parchment_ off the list. Those things mattered to him more than Galleons, obviously.

Severus wanted to see the young man's spirit back where it belonged, and surely, that was just the way to bring it roaring back.

"Well," he announced, locking the vault key away with Harry's list. "That's a good start, I suppose, but I'd like to take charge of your other bloodline assets now, as well. Go get them."

The young man hesitated, at least. That probably meant something. But then he stood, and said, "I'll be right back," and walked calmly out of the room.

Severus heard the Floo whisking Harry away to get his things, and put his head down on the desk as he thought, _Well, that was unexpected. What won't the stupid Gryffindor give up in this effort to be something he's clearly not?_


	17. Chapter 17

 

 

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 23, 1998 ---- 11:54 a.m. **

That time, Hermione didn't need a beckoning signal; she followed Harry up without being prompted, and once the door was closed, scoffed, "What now? Black?"

Positive he couldn't discuss it as carefully as last time, Harry went ahead and warded the door, then leaned against it, rolling his eyes. "Now he wants my bloodline assets. Um, that's anything my mum or dad ever owned before me. He just made me transfer my whole vault into his."

Hermione sat down on Ron's bed, her brows crinkling together as she tried to make sense of that. 

Despondent, Harry flopped onto his own bed and lay on his back. "I knew I'd have to give him all this stuff anyway, it's not like this comes as any big shock, but I don't understand why it has to be today."

"Well, I think it's another test," Hermione said, nodding to herself. "Like the shirt thing. I suppose he just wants to see if you'll do it."

"I've half a mind _not_ to do it!" Harry shouted. "It's my dad's cloak he wants, and the Marauders' Map, Hermione! And do you think he's going to just look at some blank parchment and not _ask_ me about it? He's going to demand to know everything, I just know it!"

Hermione frowned. "Yes, well as you said, you were going to have to give him both of those eventually. He'd have asked his questions then, surely? The timing doesn't make that much difference."

"I'll just _lie_ ," Harry fumed. "He doesn't deserve the truth, not after he just lied his head off about my mum. Said my dad didn't have any real merits, and my mum only loved him for his money and his pure blood, Hermione!"

Hermione laughed. "No merits? He became an unregistered Animagus while still in school, for pity's sake! And that's not even counting the Map! That's a masterpiece of wizardry!"

"Yeah, it is, isn't it?" Harry asked. "Bet Snape never made the like when he was still at school here. I think it just might be fun to rub his nose in the fact, make him _see_ what a great wizard my dad was!"

"You're going to show Snape how to work the map?"

"Well, I'll have to, sooner or later!" Harry snapped. "Once we invoke, disregarding his orders will mess up the power exchange, so I'm pretty well stuck."

Hermione thought about that, and slowly nodded. "It's not as though you'll need the map yourself for much longer anyway," she commiserated.

"Yeah, thanks for that reminder! I like looking forward to being a slave who can't even come or go without his master's say-so!"

"That isn't what I meant," Hermione quietly corrected. "I just thought we've only a few weeks left as students here. What use is a map of Hogwarts once we're gone.... oh."

"Yeah, oh!" Harry mimicked. "I'm not going far, am I?"

"I'm sorry, Harry--"

"Me too," he said, but without as much heat. "It's not your fault. It just _is_. I have to calm down or I'll blow it down there and say something rude, and _ick_ , that was why he.... you know, how I came in looking? It was because I called him an arsehole."

"He is one, testing you like this!" Hermione declared, jumping to her feet. 

Harry gave up on procrastinating and pulled his father's cloak out from the drawer where he kept it. Then, with a heavy sigh, he got the map out, too.

Hermione hugged him tight, then let him go.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 23, 1998 ---- 12:20 p.m. **

Severus watched the Floo carefully, convinced that Harry would arrive _wearing_ the invisibility cloak, but when the young man stepped through, it was dangling over his hand, an iridescent shimmer of fabric. His other hand clutched a folded wad of parchment.

Harry put them both on the low table before the settee, and without looking at Severus, flopped down into a comfortable position.

"All this Flooing back and forth is really making me hungry," he casually put forth, just as though he hadn't just given away what were obviously his most prized possessions. "Any chance of a lunch soon?"

"In a moment," Severus murmured, taking up the parchment. "Tell me what this is."

He fully expected to hear the same words Harry had written down for him when pressed, _spare bit of parchment._ Instead, the young man flatly announced, "It's a map of Hogwarts."

 _The infamous Map._ Severus had caught glimpses of it, nothing more. "Written in invisible ink?" he mocked. He thought better than to incant _Reveal your secrets_ again, or even the more elegant _Mostrare toto._ One humiliation in front of Harry Potter was more than enough, but at least tonight there was no werewolf to snatch the map away from him. "Well? Demonstrate."

Again, he fully expected hesitation, not to mention lies. The parchment would suddenly cease to function. Harry would say he hadn't used it in a while, and didn't remember the spell. _Something_.

A holly wand tapped the parchment lightly, Harry leaning over to incant, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Severus closed his mouth, sure he was gaping, and that was _before_ writing began to scroll itself over the surface of the sheets, the authors announcing themselves in bold strokes, a ludicrous title unfurling in ink, _The Marauders' Map._

When Harry unfolded the parchment, room after room appeared, along with tiny moving dots, neatly labeled.

Severus let out a breath and just stared.

"My dad was quite the wizard," Harry softly said, his eyes gleaming with pride. "I've tried to figure out what spells went into it, how it works, but..." he shrugged away his bafflement.

"It's a silly child's trick!" Severus corrected, picking up the map. "What spells, indeed. Consult any text on the matter and you'll soon find they're not so very abstruse."

Not even that made the young man rise to his father's defence, though of course the map was very impressive, and Severus knew it. As he looked more closely, he saw various hidden passageways, some of them unknown to him. Suddenly some of the tricks James and Sirius had played on him took on new dimensions, and Severus revised his opinion of the map. The magic behind it was impressive, but not the use those cruel, vain boys had put it to.

"Is it accurate?" he snapped, making the word sound an insult.

Potter didn't react, except to say, "It knew that Moody was really Crouch."

"You _knew_ that Crouch taught here incognito for an entire _year,_ and said nothing whatsoever about it?" Severus roared, no artifice in his emotions that time.

Harry merely shrugged. "It also knew that Ron's rat was really Peter Pettigrew, but I didn't put that together either, until after it would have mattered."

"Good at that, aren't you?"

"At what?" Harry questioned, his green eyes perplexed.

"At not figuring things out," Snape sneered, his tones overlaid with contempt. He was _not_ going to put up with this ridiculous slavish behavior, not even if snapping Harry out of it meant deluging him with insults. "You heard a Basilisk in the walls and didn't figure _out_ that you should mention it to someone in authority! You let Trelawney's second prophecy pass you by, then missed the clues on the map, too, and gave the Dark Lord his servant back! You _knew_ we wanted you to close off your mind, but you left it wide open to be tricked, regardless!"

"I know," Harry sighed, closing his eyes, his voice utterly flat. "I killed Sirius."

Severus dropped the map, startled. He hadn't meant to refer to Black, specifically, but rather to Harry's defiance over the whole study of Occlumency. The boy hadn't tried, hadn't practiced, hadn't wanted to learn.

"Lestrange killed him, not you, Harry," he quietly corrected. "Don't say again that you did."

"All right," Harry replied, in that same dead tone, and Severus knew exactly what he meant. _All right, I won't say it again...._ not _All right, I'm not to blame._

Pushing a hand through his hair, Severus decided that they'd had enough of tests for one morning. Actually, he didn't know what would break through this _mood_ the young man had put himself in. Perhaps when they got to the touching, Severus could demand.... _no. No. NO._ He forced himself to stop following the thought. It would be a serious miscalculation to use their intimate time together for anything but establishing some basis for compatibility. If Severus misused his authority and took advantage of Harry's strange compliance to prove a point, or break the young man's resolve, it would have repercussions far into the future.

They might not be able to invoke the spell at all, past Harry's resentment and sense of betrayal. And even if they could, it would make crossing their powers magnitudes more difficult.

 _Lunch,_ he decided, as Harry had mentioned. And then an interlude. Something to move their intimacy closer to what they'd need to do at the invocation, but nothing that would threaten Harry enough to disrupt their progress. _Sensatus,_ again. Quite a lot of it, Severus expected. What he had in mind wasn't so very different from all they'd done before, but the mere fact of moving in into his bedroom and onto his bed would probably unsettle Harry.

Or maybe not, if Harry kept up this docile act.

"Come eat," he quietly advised, and led the way into his private library.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 23, 1998 ---- 12:45 p.m. **

It was easier dealing with Snape, Harry decided, when he also had something else to keep him busy. That was probably why their study times usually went okay, Potions excepted. Eating lunch gave him plenty to do, especially since he was carefully watching Snape to copy his manners. 

A plate of artfully cut fruit, first. Harry would have eaten with his hands, but Snape used a fork and knife to cut each piece into neat, even slivers, so Harry followed suit. That wasn't too hard to manage, actually, but when the next course came his eyes sort of bugged out. A miniature chicken? Sitting whole and roasted on his plate, no less, surrounded by red-skinned potatoes flecked with butter, parsley and mint. 

Harry had carved plenty of chickens for Aunt Petunia, but never anything so _tiny_. He tried to copy Snape's easy motions, but his own chicken ended up looking absolutely mangled. Snape's, in contrast, looked like a neatly skinned and dissected creature being prepared for inclusion in a potion. It wasn't an image terribly conducive to eating, but Harry was hungry enough to just shake his head to clear it before he put his knife down and started tearing pieces of meat off with his fork. "Where do you think the house elves find chickens this small?" he thought to ask.

Snape quirked a small smile. "These are Cornish game hens."

Harry had never heard of those, but just said, "Oh. Well, you eat really well." No wonder the Potions Master was known to skip meals in the Great Hall on a fairly frequent basis.

"You haven't had these before, I take it?"

"Or soufflé, or mousse, or grilled sole on rice," Harry quipped. 

"What did your family feed you, then?" Snape casually inquired.

Harry couldn't help but frown. "Oh, you know."

"Never having dined with Muggles, no, I don't know."

"Well, I ate a lot of jam sandwiches," Harry thought to say, deciding not to mention that lots of times he'd had _that_ when the Dursleys were gobbling up a chicken he'd carved for them. "Or beans on toast." Snape looked revolted, which Harry thought was rather interesting.

Snape set down his fork. A steaming cup of tea appeared for him, though Harry got a mound of custard served on shortbread, along with another glass of pumpkin juice. He raised an eyebrow, wondering if the house-elves had messed up, but Snape didn't appear perturbed, so it was probably just as he'd requested. After Harry had polished off every bite, even licking the last traces of custard from his spoon, Snape offered, "Still hungry? You can have more, you know."

"No thanks," Harry returned, glancing around the room. He'd felt all right, more or less, during the meal, but now he was starting to get nervous, and with good reason. It was probably time again for Snape to demand he take off his shirt, or something. Not exactly eager for that, even if he had figured out how to tolerate it, Harry cast about for some way to put it off. "So, um, have you actually read all these books?"

"I enjoy reading."

"Any favorites?"

"Nothing that would interest you."

Harry didn't know why he felt so insulted by that remark; it was probably just the honest truth. The books were likely all treatises on Potions, or something.

"I think we'll try you on some wine again," Snape went on. A freshly corked bottle and a single crystal flute materialized in the center of the table; the man obviously had the house elves well trained. Snape poured out a half-glass and handed it to Harry.

Probably uncouth of him, Harry thought, but he sniffed it before taking a taste. This time the wine seemed far tangier. He made a slight face, and thought about saying he didn't like it, but then Snape said, "Drink," and he realised he probably should. Harry took a large swallow of the sour taste, and then a second one.

"I didn't say to guzzle it," Snape mocked. "Though I do want you to finish it in the next few minutes. And then, we'll adjourn to my bedroom."

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 23, 1998 ---- 1:32 p.m. **

As Harry stood nervously by the end of the bed, Severus tilted his wand toward the hearth and lit a slow-glowing fire. Another spell had the enchanted window showing a view of a starry night. Thinking that the effect plunged the room into rather more darkness than he had in mind, Severus lit a few candles as well. There now, that was better.

Harry, he noticed, was already slipping into the deep breathing that meant he was under stress and trying not to show it. Severus went to him and stood facing him, his hands coming up to bracket Harry's cheeks. _Ah, so tempting,_ to lean in for another gentle kiss, just as he'd done the night before. Harry wouldn't fight him; he was sure of it. He could wrap his arms tightly around him, and pull him in close, and open their lips together for a real kiss, their first, because that violent one didn't count, did it...

Severus restrained the urge.

Just because Harry wouldn't fight it didn't mean the time was right, especially considering _why_ he wouldn't resist. _His damned slave act._ Severus was determined to put a stop to it, but for now, for this, for their interlude... he was equally determined to proceed as he would have in any case.

As he would have even if Harry was still gasping with nervousness and making rude little comebacks to every word Severus said.

Severus dropped his hands to the top button of Harry's deep green shirt, and flicking it free, murmured, "My turn to undress you, I do believe."

The young man stood mute and still and let him do it. _Of course_. Really, a little banter would have been nice, a little resistance even, because at least that would be natural. This forced unnaturalness Harry was adopting was really quite distressing, Severus was realizing, and for more reasons than just the fact that it might interfere with invoking the spell. He just plain didn't care for it.

He pulled the hem of Harry's shirt out from where it was tucked in with a little more force than was necessary, but Harry didn't react to that, either. He just stood, eyes closed, his breathing deep and even, his chest rising and falling with it. Severus unbuttoned his cuffs, then, and gently eased the shirt from his shoulders and off, and still, Harry didn't indicate by word or gasp or gesture that he felt the slightest unease.

Carelessly dropping the shirt, Severus trailed a hand across his collarbones, and reverently touched his fingertips to the pulse fluttering in his throat. _Ah, there it was..._ proof, as if he needed it, that Harry wasn't as calm as this façade would suggest. Why he would wish to feign calmness, though, that was what puzzled Severus. He hadn't bothered doing it before Wednesday, when this dramatic change had swept through him, apparently body and soul.

He'd thought of this before, of course... what might have sparked this change. Tuesday night had been rather eventful in more ways than one: Harry's open defiance in leaving the Potions lesson, those confessions about his awful dreams, that searing kiss...

But Harry Potter, as Severus well knew, was about as far from a coward as one could get, so Severus truly didn't believe any of those events had much to do with the appearance of this new, submissive incarnation of the Boy Who Lived.

Interesting... the pulse was beating stronger and faster the longer he left his fingers on it, though to all other outward signs, Harry remained as calm and placid as ever. Severus moved his hand to the young man's strong bicep and flexed his fingers against the firm, supple flesh. _Ah, beautiful..._ his arms were lightly tanned, the skin smooth over muscles that were just right. Not slack, not bulging, but just toned and taut. Carefully leashed strength, like magic itself.

"Harry," Severus said, clearing his throat when his voice emerged a bit more throatily than he would have liked. "Open your eyes."

The green in them was almost somnolent, but not with pleasure; Severus was experienced enough to know the difference. This sleepiness was close to blankness, to an absence of thought. And though Severus had often accused Harry Potter of being brainless, the last thing he wanted was to see the young man actually become so, even in some bizarre bid toward a kind of obedience Severus had never even asked for.

He snapped his fingers sharply, right in front of Harry's dazed gaze, and when the young man blinked and shook his head, dryly announced, "Don't go sleep, now. You're supposed to be learning to enjoy my touch, remember?"

Harry slowly nodded, his gaze stealing back toward that blank look. Severus could hardly stand it. He'd meant to touch a good while longer, but suddenly thought that it was better, perhaps, to move along to what he'd been thinking on for days.

"I'd like you to take off my shirt, now," he lazily announced. "All right, Harry?"

No resistance, not even to that. "All right," he merely said, his voice not so much sleepy as just... dead. That described the gaze as well, Severus realised with a fair amount of depression. Harry's fingers were strong and sure as he flicked the buttons free from their holes, one after another, his hands steadily marching down the front of Severus' black dress shirt. He didn't linger over them as Severus had, but moved methodically from front, to cuffs, to peeling it off.

His eyes flicked toward the Dark Mark, and then closed, but Harry didn't otherwise react.

"Come to bed," Severus murmured, pulling him as he spoke, though the young man's flesh was unresisting. It was as if his mind had ceased to function, as if he had become some species of magical object himself, able only to do as he was bid. No personality, no sense of _self,_ Harry was less than a slave, less than a house-elf, like this. It was as if he had transfigured himself into a wand that simply performed as told. 

Severus realised with a sort of dark despair that he hated Harry this way. He thought of stopping, of talking it through, of forcing him to somehow cease this nonsense, but he had no real faith that anything he said would make a difference. Harry had given up his most prized possessions and even explained to Severus how to work that map; he'd answered highly intimate questions without a qualm. He was so far sunken into this act that his own existence had all but ceased to _exist_. 

Severus didn't know how to bring him back, except through some invasive excess of intimacy, and he knew with an instinct surer than life that _that_ would be a dreadful mistake.

So sighing, he did as he'd meant to do all along, did what he'd been planning to do all week. He lay down on the bed, tugging Harry down with him, and settled them both onto their sides, the full length of his bare chest pressing into Harry's warm back. Harry's head pillowed against Severus' upper arm, Severus drew him close with his free arm, splaying his fingers against the young man's ribs, and without further preliminaries, began kissing his neck.

Harry started breathing more deeply. _In, out, in, out,_ as he let Severus do as he wished. But he was supposed to be learning pleasure, not practicing how to play dead! Severus again wondered if he should stop this. He didn't want to, though; didn't want to let go of the smooth, warm feel of Harry in his arms, Harry in his bed.

There was only one thing left to do. Harry was supposed to be learning pleasure, so pleasure he would have. " _Sensatus,_ " Severus whispered, touching his wand to Harry's shoulder. 

And Harry's body came to life.

He suddenly arched his back as he lay on his side, stretching his neck sideways as he let go of inhibition and moaned deep in his throat, his hands coming up from where they'd lain limply to cover Severus' hand on his chest. Mewling under the force of the hot kiss against his shoulder, he writhed slightly, his body recognizing the pleasure and the passion it had felt but denied all that week.

Severus caressed the young man's chest, and pulled him closer in the embrace, breathing in the warm, clean scent of him, his kiss moving up to that sensitive place behind Harry's ear, casting _Sensatus_ again whenever the young man began to stiffen. He learned with hands and mouth and teeth the curve of Harry's shoulder, the flat planes of his stomach, the taut muscles of his chest.

Eventually, he let Harry surface past the spell, knowing the exact instant when he emerged; his soft noises of pleasure ceased and were replaced by the steady cadence of deep breathing. By that time, Harry was on his back, Severus at his side but leaning half over him. Bending his head, Severus softly wrapped his lips around one small, dusky nipple, his tongue steadily circling it as his fingers teased its twin.

He expected to hear Harry ask for more _Sensatus_ , but the young man simply lay quiescent and accepting, though no longer participating in the least.

Frustrated, Severus levered himself up and roughly shoved Harry away. "Get up," he grated. "Get off my bed."

Harry quietly sat up, rotated his legs off the edge, and stood, his back to the other man. Then he turned, his eyes carefully blank as they searched the floor for his shirt. He picked it up from the floor, and was about to put it on. For all his outward calm, his fingers were trembling slightly.

Thinking this might be the moment when his compliance would shatter, Severus harshly commanded, "Dress me, not yourself, _slave._ "

Harry's hands jerked, his jaw clenching, but the tiny rebellion was aborted before it reached his lips. "Yes, Severus," he only said, and dropped his own green shirt to pick up a rumpled black one.

Severus watched with despair, but didn't let that show through his hard expression and harder words. "You _are_ pathetic," he rasped, determined to break through this complacency once and for all. "Have you truly no more sense than to offer me a soiled garment to wear? You are supposed to use your mind as well as your body, you know, to please me! Get me a clean shirt, and refrain from such utter stupidity in the future!"

If anything, the insults only drove Harry all the more deeply into his trancelike state. Nodding, he moved to open the armoire. The Harry Severus knew would have snickered at least at the row of black clothing within, no other colour in evidence. He would have said something cleverly disparaging about clothes making the man. Severus missed the banter, the _challenge_ that was dealing with the real Harry Potter.

This completely blank young man was starting to scare him. Very few things frightened Severus, but the prospect of Harry Potter never emerging from his daze was one of them. Of course Severus was aware that Harry only did this while with _him_ ; at meals in the Great Hall he'd seemed as animated as ever. That was little solace. All too soon, Harry's friends would leave the school to begin their new lives, and Harry would be with Severus, and he might fall so completely into this horrid submission that he never woke up from it at all.

Irritated, Severus snatched the shirt from Harry's hand and put in on himself. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he gibed, adopting his most contemptuous expression as his eyes raked up and down the shorter man's form. "Are you so eager for more _Sensatus_ that you have to flaunt yourself like this? Get your own shirt on!"

Again, no reaction to the insults.

Severus stomped out to the parlour, flung himself into a chair, and grabbed the Marauders' Map from the coffee table. Really, it was quite ingenious, as well as a work of art. Well, that aspect of it would have been Lupin's, he reasoned. The sheer majesty of the magic was more Potter's doing. His and Black's.

Harry wandered out, his shirt completely buttoned and tucked in, his hair slicked down with a bit of water.

"Come sit at my side," Severus sneered. "On the floor."

He did _that_ too, to Severus' utter disgust. 

"I'm thinking this map will really be quite useful," Severus began in a contemplative tone. Reaching out a hand, he threaded his fingers through Harry's hair and stroked the strands, returning them to their usual state of messiness. "I'll no longer have to wander the dark corridors in search of students breaking curfew. Now, I can relax here and drink my tea of an evening, while I note who goes where." He laughed, and pulled slightly at Harry's hair as he remarked, "Not what your father had in mind when he made it, I'm certain. Of course, I'm equally sure he didn't intend for you to become anyone's catamite, let alone mine. What would he say, to see you sitting on the floor, being petted like a dog?"

Harry didn't answer, until Severus roared, "That wasn't rhetorical! What would your father say to see you like this?"

Harry closed his eyes. "I have no idea, Severus. I never knew him."

Good point. "What would Black say, then, to know I'll have you in my bed?"

Harry's voice showed no trace of emotion. "Sirius would vomit."

"And Lupin?" Severus sneered. "You got on well with him, as I recall. Almost like a second godfather to you, wasn't he, for a while? What would he have to say to know that you're my body slave, my bed slave? Would he vomit, too?"

"No, Remus would understand," Harry quietly asserted.

"Oh, _Remus_ would understand," Severus cruelly mimicked. "What makes you think that?"

Harry leaned his head against the armrest of the chair, an action that brought the other man's hand down to his neck, though Severus didn't think that was why he'd done it. Harry was simply weary, and showing it. "Remus knows what it is to be confronted by something bigger than himself, bigger than all his hopes and dreams," Harry explained. "The moon comes for him every month, and he can't stop it, or stop himself from changing, and no amount of wishing will alter his fate in the slightest. Remus would say that _Cambiare Podentes_ is my moon, and I must learn to live within its phases."

 _Rather well reasoned,_ Severus thought. _Indeed, that is what Lupin would think._

Severus returned his attention to the map, absently noting that the headmaster was pacing circles around his office. 

" _Accio_ parchment, _accio_ quill and ink," Severus said, an idea occurring to him. "I do believe we'll put your father's ingenuity to a better use than tricks and pranks, but I find I'm not in the mood for tedium." He thrust the writing materials at Harry, and spread the map out on the low table. "Write me a list of anyone who strays out of bounds. Be sure to note beside each name the time and place of each infraction."

He thought surely that Harry Potter, Gryffindor hero, wouldn't stoop to that.

But Harry merely drew his wand and incanted, _"Tempus sempre_ " so that a ghostly clock would emerge from the end of it, the hands glowing grey and blue as they moved. Then, he studied the map and began writing out names.

Severus hid his sigh, and picking up a potions manual, began reading, his mind not so much on fairy dust as on the strange behavior taking place right in front of his eyes.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 23, 1998 ---- 4:06 p.m. **

"All right, enough," Severus finally said some while later. "Let me see your list."

Harry handed it over without a word, his expression blank.

"Any reason why you've only troubled yourself to note the Slytherins who've broken the rules?" Severus asked, his eyebrows lifted.

Harry looked up from his place on the settee, and shrugged. "They were the only ones who went out of bounds."

It was either a clever little bit of rebellion, or the honest truth. Severus couldn't tell, and it certainly wasn't an issue worth Legilimizing someone over. When he glanced at the map, he did only see Slytherins where they shouldn't be. "Burn the list," he told Harry. "I'm not taking points from Slytherin."

Harry didn't object to that, though he had most likely expected it. 

"So, what's the incantation to wipe the map clean?" 

"Mischief managed," Harry answered.

Severus scowled. "Mischief isn't what your father and his friends got up to with it. Their stock in trade was cruelty to others. Really, the whole lot of them should have been sorted into Slytherin." When the young man's eyes just went blank at that, Severus realised that perhaps _sorting_ was the whole key. He'd been going about this all wrong, thinking like a Slytherin, trying to trick and manipulate Harry out of his strange daze. _A different colour shirt, barrages of insults, making him give up his property early._ It was no wonder Harry hadn't responded as expected.

 _He_ was a Gryffindor. The way through his thick skull probably had more to do with honest forthrightness than clever cunning, and Severus knew he should have realised as much the first night Harry began acting so strangely. That it had taken him so long to reason out such a simple thing was actually quite disturbing. 

"What the hell's the matter with you, Potter?" Severus abruptly erupted. 

The glaze in Harry's eyes didn't dim at the harsh tone. "Nothing."

"Oh, _nothing,_ " Severus mimicked. "You've only been sleepwalking through your every visit with me!"

Harry blinked. "Sleepwalking?"

"Yes!" Severus snarled, leaning far forward to snap his fingers directly in front of Harry's eyes. "Now, wake up!"

Another blink. "I'm awake, Severus. What are you talking about?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." When Harry didn't respond to that, Severus sighed. "This exaggerated submission you've adopted. It needs to stop."

Now those green eyes looked confused. "I'm just doing what you say."

"It's more like somebody else is doing what I say!"

Yet more confusion, so much this time that Severus had to wonder what was going on in the young man's head. "I don't understand," Harry said, staring at him. Merlin, he looked like someone put under a Mesmer charm, his eyes so fixed and now, _unblinking_.

"You aren't acting like yourself," Severus explained. "And it's _yourself_ you have to give me, Harry, not some mannequin that merely looks like you. Did you think this was the way to meet the requirements of _Podentes?_ I quite assure you, it is not."

"But this is myself," Harry slowly said.

"No, it's not! Harry Potter argues and disobeys and sneaks around and generally makes an utter pest of himself!"

There is was again, that blink. "You want me to argue and disobey and sneak around?"

"No!" Severus roared.

"Well, then I don't understand," Harry calmly said. 

Severus had to admit, by that time he was feeling less than clear about the matter himself. He _didn't_ want Harry defiant and disobedient at every turn. It would be unpleasant to live with, and besides, it would prevent them from crossing powers. But this abject submission was just as bad, and would interfere with _Podentes_ just as much, not the least because Severus couldn't stand it. "You're supposed to be struggling," he shortly explained. "You should be under more tension than this."

When Harry shifted to a kneel as he thought about that, Severus shouted, "You shouldn't be sitting on the floor as though it's perfectly natural, or putting up so _placidly_ with me constantly insulting your father!"

Instead of reacting with fire, Harry mildly said, "I'll sit in a chair if that would please you better." He moved to do so as he spoke. 

"And you don't mind the insults!" Severus accused, beginning to wonder just what he _would_ mind.

"I pretty much expect them," Harry said. "I'd like it if you didn't bring up my father. Is that what you want, to know that you've hurt me?" He shrugged. "I'm human, Severus. If you cut me, I bleed."

"I am not trying to _hurt_ you," Severus corrected, realizing that of course it must look that way to Harry. "I am trying to _find_ you. I know you loved Sirius Black. How can you so calmly state that he would vomit to know what will become of you?"

Another shrug, so very uncaring. In fact, not like a Gryffindor at all. "Because he would," Harry explained, looking as though something deep inside him was clamping down on the pain so he could keep speaking. "Sirius reacted to things without thinking much about the consequences that would result. Maybe it was all that time with the Dementors."

"Your godfather was never one to consider the consequences of his actions," Severus bluntly corrected. "I don't think it occurred to him that causing a fellow student to be mauled would get him expelled and Lupin most likely put down."

Harry clenched his hands together, then relaxed them as he leaned back. 

"Enough about Black," Severus pronounced. "What we have to solve has only to do with us."

"If you just tell me what you want, I'll do it," Harry patiently asserted. "I don't know what else to say."

 _So much for Gryffindor forthrightness,_ Severus thought. Well, it didn't suit him anyway, did it? His mind was much better geared toward strategy. He moved to the settee where Harry was, close enough to touch him, and silkily inquired, "And what if I told you to remove every scrap of clothing so I could see what I'll get from the _Podentes_ exchange?"

Well, at least he went a bit white at the question, but that didn't stop him from starting with the buttons on his cuffs. Severus knocked his hands away and shook his head, regretting the challenge. He hadn't meant to let this contest of wills leech over into the intimate relationship they had to establish. He just wanted the young man to stand up to him, to demand to negotiate, to be strong in of himself... even in the context of the obedience _Podentes_ required.

But what would _make_ him? Petty little insults were entirely ineffective, and Harry had shown himself more than capable of submitting to trivial, if irrational, commands. Another command, something profound, something he'd _never_ willingly agree to, something to make him _wake up_...

Tell him to give up something he cared deeply about... no, the map and cloak were about as far as he could go in that direction. Some _one_ , then...

"Don't speak to Miss Granger again," Severus coldly announced. "Not one word."

Harry gave him a strange look, one Severus couldn't quite interpret. It wasn't defiance, certainly, but neither was it outright agreement. "I already did tell her not to go interfering again," the young man quietly said. "She knows to stay out of it."

"It?" 

"This." Harry gave a wave around the room. "Us."

Severus inclined his head. "Regardless, you're not to speak with her again."

"Why do you care?" Harry pressed, sitting up straight, his hands clenching in his lap.

"It's not your concern _why I care,_ " Severus scathed. Harry's slight resistance was something good to see, he thought. One more strong shove, and this slave-act would shatter, and they could move past it to the real relationship they needed to build. "You're mine, and you'll do as I say, whether you like it or not, whether you understand it or not!"

Harry looked up, his green eyes blazing, but when he met Severus' gaze, that all changed. The light in his eyes dimmed, then flickered, then went out completely. "All right," he quietly said, and glanced down at the map, his finger reaching out to touch a name. Her name, no doubt. "Shall I spell this clear?" he asked, changing the subject. "Or did you want to leave it the way it is?"

"Mischief managed," Severus said himself, tapping wand to parchment and watching all the writing erase itself. "What did you mean, 'all right?'"

Harry folded the map, then left it out on the table. "What you said. I won't talk to Hermione again."

"And that prospect doesn't bother you?" Severus blurted, finding the whole concept shocking. Harry and the girl had practically lived in each other's pockets since first year! He was just going to give her up with hardly an objection at all? Without demanding a proper explanation? Why wasn't he railing against it, as he had against Severus' order to abstain? 

Severus wanted nothing more than to shake the young man and demand _Who are you and what have you done with Harry Potter?_

"It bothers me," Harry answered.

"But you aren't going to debate the matter further?"

"No."

"I suppose you're thinking that you've only three weeks left in term, anyway," Severus sneered, thinking that a little salt rubbed in the wound might do wonders for Harry's missing backbone. "You'll never see her again, after that, so you might as well get used to it. Well, is that you're thinking?"

"I was thinking that it would have been nice to make the last three weeks count," Harry quietly replied. "But if you say so, I won't speak to Hermione."

All at once, Severus found that he didn't want to dine with Harry, let alone put them through another _Sensatus_ session. He just wanted the young man gone from his sight.

"Out!" he roared, lunging to his feet. "Get out! This instant!"

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 23, 1998 ---- 5:11 p.m. **

"You're kidding," Hermione said, staring down at the slip of parchment Harry had thrust into her hand. "He actually demanded that you not talk to me!"

Harry leaned over and wrote, _yes._

"And you're going to just do it!"

That time he nodded.

Hermione sighed. "I thought you only fell into this _stop-thinking-just-obey_ routine when you were with him, Harry."

 _Not exactly,_ Harry wrote, though he wasn't going to explain to Hermione about Snape's orders about abstaining. Too embarrassing by half. _Anyway, safer this way,_ he added. 

"That's true, I suppose," Hermione sighed. "I mean, if we chat just like always while we're up here, we might slip up and do it at meals or in the halls, and he might see. Still, I don't like this. Notes, Harry? Don't you think it's a bit childish?"

Harry grinned and wrote, _If he can be stupid then so can I._

"So you think this is just another test, like the green shirt?"

Harry put a finger to his mouth as from behind the closed bed curtains, they heard someone come in. Seamus, sounded like. _You write too,_ he scrawled. _No names. Listen, he's acting a bit strange with me lately. Sort of goading. But my uncle used to do that, too. He'd push and push and push at me to make me fight back so that he'd have an excuse to use his belt on me. This is like that, I think. He wanted me to stand up and scream, I could tell. It actually made him sort of mad that I didn't, but not mad enough to punish me, like he'd have been if I had played his little game._

Harry could tell already, writing everything was going to get old, fast. 

Hermione read the note, nodding, and added, _Be careful._ Then, after a pause, _If we keep this up, Ron is bound to notice. Other people, too. What are we going to tell them?_

Harry shrugged. _You're the smart one. You think of something._

The end of the quill was well-chewed by the time Hermione wrote, _We could say it's some Muggle tradition for exam week. For good luck._

Harry couldn't help it; he laughed out loud, then tried to stifle it.

"What's so funny?" Seamus called.

"Oh, nothing," Harry called back, biting his hand in between words. "Just thinking of that time in class, remember, with Lupin teaching us to confuse the boggart."

"Yeah, spiders in roller-skates," Seamus chuckled. "Snape in old lady's clothes."

 _I did not need that image,_ Harry wrote, and that time it was Hermione choking back her amusement.


	18. Chapter 18

 

 

** Sunday, May 24, 1998 **

On Sunday, Harry sat with Ron and Hermione for all his meals. He felt Snape watching him, but was careful to talk only to Ron, who had already been told that Harry and Hermione were going to try some "Muggle thing" and not talk to each other until exams were over. Of course, that meant Hermione was reduced to writing notes, too, but she took it in stride. Harry had a feeling she wanted to make him feel better by making sure he wasn't the only one writing instead of talking. When Ron was around, though, they could talk through him. In fact, they made a right giggle of it.

"Tell Hermione to pass the salt," Harry said, looking straight across the table at Ron.

"She's right next to you, mate!" Ron exclaimed, before he remembered. Then his face broke out into a huge smile. Leaning forward, he said, "Hermione, Harry wants you to pass the salt."

Hermione handed it over. "Tell Harry I need the pepper," she added, starting to laugh out loud.

"Harry, Hermione wants the pepper."

Harry passed it to her, then handed Ron the salt and said, "Tell Hermione I'm through with this. Oh, and thank her, will you?"

Ron rolled his eyes. 

Of course, behaviour like this didn't go unnoticed for long. "What, are they fighting?" Dean asked Ron, glancing at Harry and Hermione, who were having a hard time keeping straight faces by then.

"Does it look like they're fighting?" Ron questioned. "Oh, don't mind them. It's some Muggle superstition, or so they say. Personally, I think their minds have snapped from the stress."

"Ron," Hermione exclaimed, "there's no reason to let the N.E.W.T.s put you under stress. We're merely being asked to demonstrate what we've learned. Really, you should be glad of the opportunity to validate seven years' worth of schooling."

"Tell Hermione that normal people think end-of-year exams are less than thrilling," Harry said.

"Tell Harry that he'll do fine if he'll just relax about them," Hermione retorted.

"Tell Hermione that if I relax, I'll fall asleep over my essays."

"Tell Harry that he knows his subjects well enough to write his essays in his sleep."

"Go back to writing notes, why don't you?" Ron laughed as he got up to leave. "I have to put up with this all week? I think you're both mental."

Harry laughed too, and wrote, _What are we going to tell him after exams end?_ Keeping his gaze glued to his plate, he passed her the note under the table. The last thing he wanted was for Snape to realise the game and add _no writing to Miss Granger_ to his list of restrictions.

Hermione peeked at the note, the action surreptitious, and looking away, murmured under her breath, "We'll think of something."

When Harry glanced at the Head Table, he saw that Snape was eyeing them carefully, so he just concentrated on eating and didn't write another note.

  
  
  
  


** Monday, May 25, 1998 through Wednesday, May 27, 1998 **

The N.E.W.T.s turned out to be like the O.W.L.s, only with ten times the pressure. These exams, after all, were going to open or close career doors. For everyone but Harry, that was. He'd expected to be a nervous wreck, but he actually found the testing experience rather liberating, since for once in his life, he didn't have to care about the results. He ended up taking them the way Snape had said, to get an objective measurement of his own abilities, and didn't worry about whether he'd done well enough to enter the Auror's program. It was relaxing, to sit the exams that way, and know the results didn't really matter.

They wouldn't change _his_ life. 

As it turned out, Hermione was right about the difference relaxing would make. He usually wrote test essays with his fingers cramped, his brow furrowed, a roaring headache attacking him as he hunched over his desk and tried to think of something remotely relevant to the topic. It was like all that tension cut his brain off from his thoughts, or something, because he'd written some fantastically stupid drivel, that way. When he'd look over those essay later, he'd moan, and actually think it was no great wonder Snape always called him stupid.

On his first N.E.W.T. essay, just as the proctor marched to the front of the room, Harry realised that all his usual stress and effort would be an exercise in futility, this time. He didn't have to impress some Ministry drone with his scores. Just knowing that helped him relax. Leaning back in his chair, one leg bent, the other leg indolently extended, he took up the essay topic as it was passed to him. His mind began making associations, comparing and contrasting various elements of magic that related to the subject at hand. He realised he knew quite a bit. And as he began to write the essay itself, the thoughts just kept flowing. Relaxing made all the difference in the world. Harry told himself he should probably send Hermione flowers, or something. She'd only been telling him this for _years._

Practicals had never given him as much trouble, but even they were easier when he didn't feel wound up about the results.

Really, the week was progressing nicely, one N.E.W.T. after another. By Wednesday morning, even Ron had noticed Harry's new confidence and ease. For some reason, he'd concluded that the Muggle good luck charm had worked; he stopped talking to Harry and Hermione both. Harry laughed, and let him. Anything to boost his confidence.

But Wednesday was when things went from okay, to not-so-good, to outright disaster.

That was the scheduled day for the Potions N.E.W.T. Essay in the morning, practical in the afternoon.

Harry relaxed as he'd been doing since Monday, his posture actually projecting an aura of carelessness, it was so loose by then. But when the topic arrived, every bit of his usual panic came roaring back in. _Discuss the effects of cauldron metallurgy on short-brew versus long-brew potions. Include all six classes of common cauldron in your response. Discuss, at a minimum, three different potions of each type, and explain how the interaction between cauldron, components, and brewing time affect both magical and physical properties._

One half of his brain started shouting, _Bronze, copper, iron!_ while the other half screamed, _Who are you trying to fool? You're bad at Potions. You stink at Potions!_

He realised his whole body was starting to curl like a claw around the desk, and the more he told himself to relax, the less he was able to do it. The most frustrating part was that he _knew_ he had something intelligent to say on the topic. Cauldron types had been a topic in class every year. He knew _scads_ about cauldrons.

But he couldn't remember any of it, not with a headache roaring in his brain and his fingers clutching his quill so tightly it was already ruined beyond redemption.

At lunch, not even their little game of writing notes could cheer him up.

Snape wasn't there, so Hermione felt free to neatly write, _Well, that was really rather enjoyable. And such an easy topic, too. What did you think, Harry?_

Harry took his wand out, incanted _Incendio,_ and lit the tiny scrap of parchment on fire.

 _Oh Harry,_ Hermione wrote on a fresh scrap. _And you were doing so well on your other exams._

At least that one wasn't so show-offish, Harry thought, so he wrote back, _I can't do Potions._

_Oh, don't be ridiculous, of course you can!_

_No._

_Yes._

_No._

_Harry, it's just because of Snape you think that way. He's bullied you into thinking you can't do it. But you can, and all you have to do is realise as much, and you'll be fine._

_No._

_Yes._

Tired of the argument, Harry burned that note, too, stuffing the charred remains into his half-drunk pumpkin juice. Then he pushed off from the table and headed down to the dungeons where the Potions Practical was about to begin. The only good thing about the end-of-studies exam in Potions, Harry decided as he sat down on his usual stool, was that at least Snape wasn't there to see him fail.

And did he ever fail.

  
  
  
  


** Wednesday, May 27, 1998 ---- 7:04 p.m. **

Exams or no, Snape hadn't seen fit to change Harry's evening schedule, so on Wednesday after dinner he Flooed on down as usual. 

Snape had seemed different this week, Harry thought as he tumbled out, his glasses almost falling off his face. Maybe in deference to the N.E.W.T.s, after all? All Harry knew was that the man had stopped constantly taunting him, either with insults or tests disguised as commands. This week, he was simply letting Harry study. He wasn't even quizzing him, as he'd done before. Shortly before it was time for Harry to leave, Snape would pour him a glass of wine--always a new variety, Harry noticed--but he wouldn't make any of the usual demands about touching and kissing. Instead, Snape would want to know how that day's exams had gone. 

They would talk, that was all. Harry found it sort of nerve-wracking. He kept expecting a barked command any second. _Take your shirt off. Take my shirt off. Lay down before the fire. Come to my bed._ But Snape didn't say anything remotely like that. 

Really, they hadn't done any touching at all since Saturday. And that was fine by Harry, though it did rather confuse him. Maybe Snape thought Harry already knew all he needed to of pleasure? Wasn't _that_ a depressing thought. Harry didn't like admitting it to himself, but he didn't even need _Sensatus_ any longer. Without it, he could still recognise the feathery feeling fluttering in his belly when Snape treated his neck to those long, slow kisses. All the spell did, really, was make him admit through his reactions that he did in fact like Snape's little backrubs, among other things. The spell helped him humiliate himself with gasps and moans. All in all, it was a bit surprising that Snape hadn't mentioned those even once. Harry had been expecting ridicule ever since the first time it had happened. 

Of course, Snape seemed utterly focussed on making _Podentes_ work. Probably he realised it wasn't a good idea to do anything that would make Harry even more reluctant and self-conscious. 

Jeering at him about what had happened that day in the Potions classroom would be another matter. By now, the whole school must know how badly he'd fouled up on the practical exam, so no doubt Snape knew as well. And he wouldn't hesitate to ridicule Harry over _that_ , now would he? It was only the man's stock in trade, his self-appointed mission in life, to torment poor souls who had no grasp of his subject.

Interestingly enough, Snape didn't appear to be in when Harry arrived. That didn't happen so often. Harry settled himself in his usual place on the settee, and started revising for Defence, which was scheduled for the next day. He didn't get very far, though. He couldn't stop thinking of the way his cauldron had foamed before massive clouds of blue smoke began billowing from it, the gasps and then screams of the other students, the sheer ringing sound of that _explosion..._

It seemed like no time at all, and strangely like forever, too, before Snape strode through the door and shut it with a great deal more force than was required. His expression spoke volumes when he stiffly seated himself in a chair facing Harry, but Harry knew better than to suppose that Snape would limit himself to fierce glares.

"I understand I have you to thank for the utter shambles that is now the Advanced Potions Classroom?" Snape began, the inquiry positively glacial.

Harry bit his lip and nodded. He thought of saying _sorry,_ but figured that would just precipitate a row. As if they weren't going to have one anyway, he thought bleakly. He wondered if Snape would get even with him by making him clean cauldrons, or inflicting another one of those horribly violent, punishing kisses. Or worse.

"You've had seven years of Potions!" Snape quietly snarled, the words sounding all the more dangerous for their lack of volume. Shouting, Harry thought, meant that you were venting. Getting it all out. This controlled tone, however, proved the worst was probably yet to come.

Harry thought of saying that it was Snape, after all, who had kept him out of class for most of the past month. What good was it to point that out, though? Another month wouldn't have made any difference. He was hopeless at Potions; that was the real problem. Trying to pin the blame on Snape would be cowardly, not to mention an all-around bad idea. If anything would anger the professor more, it would be for Harry not to own up to what he'd done.

"Yes, sir," he only said.

"Severus," Snape snapped. "Now, explain to me how you could have failed to learn even the most basic safety precautions or warning signs of incipient disaster in _seven_ years!"

Harry didn't know what to say. He nervously edged back a bit, but since he was already pressed up against the corner of the settee, he didn't go far. Getting up to move farther away would be too much of a giveaway. Of course, Snape could probably smell fear, so either way, Harry felt like he was just sunk. He looked down at his hands, and realised they were sort of clawing the materials of his trousers. "I'm dreadful at Potions," he said, knowing that as explanations went, his was completely inadequate. "I should have just given it up when I left your class." 

Harry braced himself for the imminent barrage of insults, something along the lines of _Yes, you should have. You haven't got the brains of a flea._

"All right, what happened?" Snape sighed, looking at him with exhausted black eyes. All at once he didn't seem so much angry as distressed. "The N.E.W.T. proctor tried to explain, but I don't think even she quite understands how you managed it. And seeing as she was there to supervise, to _see to_ the students' _safety,_ " he sneered, "that is really saying something."

He should have known Snape would make him go through the whole ugly story out loud. Not that Harry planned to balk. He was used to people demanding he recount horrific stories, sometimes over and over. Clearing his throat, Harry managed to find his voice. "We were supposed to make Draught of Niversos," he reluctantly began.

"For the N.E.W.T.?" Snape questioned, leaning his head back. "That's quite advanced. Well? Did you misremember the correct brewing procedure?"

"I... er, not exactly, Professor--"

"Severus." That time, at least, the rebuke was calmer, though it sounded no less critical to Harry's ears. He couldn't help but call his teacher exactly that, though. Explaining about the Potions accident made him feel like an inept student. Oh, why mince words? When it came to Potions, he _was_ an inept student.

"Harry," the Potions Master pressed, "What _exactly_ did you do?" 

"I added the oil of bitter almond," Harry gulped, "and saw my potion started turning pink instead of orange--"

"You had too many blades of lemon grass in the base, you mean."

"Uh, yeah, that might have been it. I knew how many I was supposed to infuse but I... um, sort of lost count."

Uh-oh, wrong thing to say. "You can't count to _nine?_ " Snape sneered. "There is a solution for that, you know. You merely take a look in your bloody cauldron and count them again!"

"Well, they'd dissolved," Harry admitted, and Snape groaned out loud. 

"Your dragon's blood was too hot! How many times have I told you, below a full boil?"

"That part I did forget," Harry murmured. "I got nervous."

"You're a menace," Snape summarised, shaking his head. "Well, I think I can guess the rest well enough. Your potion turned pink, and started to steam. Instead of adding alder ash, which would have neutralised the reaction, you... now, what would be the absolute worst thing to do?" His derisive glance swept Harry. "Ah, I know. You decided _then_ to spell your cauldron cold. No doubt you even added water, just as if I haven't told you at least _one hundred times_ that you _never_ dilute dragon's blood with water. _Where the bloody hell was the Ministry proctor while all this was going on?_ "

Harry shrugged to say he didn't know, and heard himself saying, "I'm sorry," after all. "Um, was the damage that bad?"

Snape gave him a look of utter disgust. "Oh, no, not that bad," he sneered. "The explosion gutted the interior completely. It's actually a nice look for a dungeon. And I certainly don't mind losing thousands of Galleons worth of rare potions ingredients I've spent almost twenty years amassing!"

Harry hadn't known that, though of course he'd heard the explosion, along with everyone else. The students had been ushered out into the corridor and up towards ground level when the classroom had begun to fill with blue smoke that smelled dangerously of aniseed. Even the proctor hadn't been able to miss that sign of imminent catastrophe.

"I didn't destroy your stores on purpose," Harry said, unable to meet Snape's eyes any longer. He wished he hadn't fantasised about this very scenario so many times. It didn't give him any satisfaction to have wrecked Snape's classroom. Instead, he just felt absolutely awful. "Um, can I pay to replace all your ingredients? I feel like I ought to."

"We'll just go change your Gringotts' letter to reduce the amount you're to give me, in any case?" Snape mocked. "Very generous, Potter, offering to pay out of what is essentially my own money."

 _Oh, yeah._ Harry hadn't thought of that.

"The greater problem is the sheer difficulty in obtaining certain... items," Snape went on, sighing. "Harry... the headmaster has asked me to tell you something. It isn't good news. The Potions practical is being rescheduled. Your classmates will not be pleased that they have to go through another exam on your account."

"I already figured out at dinner that there are some... hard feelings," Harry murmured. It had been awful. For a minute there, he'd actually thought he'd be pelted with rolls as he walked past the Ravenclaw table.

"There is more. The Ministry N.E.W.T. overseer has determined that as you have certainly already failed the practical, you will not be allowed to re-sit the exam with your classmates."

Harry closed his eyes, a sick wash of feeling coursing through him. So, that was it, then. He wasn't going to be an Auror, ever. Of course, he'd known before this that it wouldn't work out, what with _Podentes_ and all. He'd even relaxed during his other exams by telling himself that the Auror's program was closed to him in any case. Despite all that, though, some little piece of him had still clung to a dream that someday, after Voldemort was dead and gone, he could find a way to end the enslavement after all, and start his real life. 

Well, maybe he could still do that, but that life wouldn't include an Aurorship. Of course, after Voldemort was destroyed there'd be much less need for Aurors, he supposed. But still, it wasn't fun to find out that contrary to what Hermione always claimed, he just plain didn't have the level of intelligence an Auror was supposed to have.

Snape was still waiting for a response, Harry realised. "Oh. Well, thanks for telling me," he managed, his voice feeling thick. 

With a muttered oath, Snape _accioed_ the nightly bottle and poured Harry a glass. They usually talked a bit about the wine, Harry giving his opinion, which would make Snape look at him in derisive amusement. Tonight, Harry just drank it straight down without even pausing to grimace at the taste. 

"Can I have a second glass?"

"You have another N.E.W.T. tomorrow," Snape reminded him. "And the next day."

"Right," Harry sighed. "Well, maybe on Friday you'll finally give me that scotch I wanted when we started all this." He cocked an eyebrow as he met Snape's gaze again. "Maybe you'll let me loose with a whole bottle? Hmm, maybe not, after I destroyed your classroom."

"You're of age, you may certainly drink hard liquor if you wish. On Friday, however, I'll be otherwise occupied. You needn't come here and sit alone. Why don't you go down to the pitch and fly for a while?"

"I'd rather catch up with my friends, assuming they're speaking to me again."

Snape gave him a swift, hard look, his inky eyes assessing. "You are referring to Miss Granger?"

"No, everybody," Harry sighed. "Well, I suppose the sixth-years won't have anything against me."

"You are exaggerating. Fewer than half your agemates are enrolled in N.E.W.T. Potions."

"Solidarity," Harry muttered.

"At any rate," Snape briskly continued, "the Advanced Potions students will be otherwise occupied. They will be re-sitting the exam Friday evening, which is why we must cancel our own appointment. I have been asked to proctor alongside that useless Ministry drone. The headmaster does not wish to see the lower-levels Potions Lab destroyed as well."

"No worries about that," Harry muttered. " _I_ won't be there."

"Harry--"

"Excuse me," Harry said, and made his way down the hall, through Snape's bedroom and into the loo. One quick tap of his wand and the door closed and locked behind him. Once there, he spelled the water on so it sounded like he was washing his hands or something. Then he slumped to the floor, held his head in his hands, and tried to calm down. He wanted to smash something, but doubted he should give into the impulse while in Snape's quarters. Even with a _reparo_ spell afterwards, he didn't think Snape would be amused. 

After a while, he did wash his hands, and then his face. His face in the mirror looked pale and defeated, the scar standing out like a crimson slash. Harry slicked his hair down over it, and took a deep breath, and then, because he couldn't hide in there all night, he tapped his wand to the door to unlock and open it.

Surprisingly, Snape was leaning against the stone wall just a few steps inside his bedroom. He frowned when he saw Harry, who defensively protested, "You said to make myself at home--"

"I did," Snape admitted. "But don't lock doors between us."

"Oh..." Harry sighed. "All right. Sort of stupid of me, I guess. I don't suppose your own doors would listen to me over you if you really wanted in."

"Not only that," Snape told him. "A closed door is sufficient, if you wish to be alone."

"Oh," Harry said again, not really knowing what to make of that. He wasn't even completely sure what Snape was saying. He would respect a closed door? Even though Harry was going to be nothing but a slave under his command? Harry felt too tired to decide if Snape meant that, or if this was some new game he didn't understand. "Um, what are you going to do about my ruining your classroom?"

"Nothing."

Harry froze, thinking that was just about the worst answer the man could have given, as it was so obviously false.

"Did you think I planned to beat you?" Snape mocked, easily reading the taut lines of his body. "Don't be absurd. You've seen me angry before. I've yet to react quite that badly."

Harry sucked in a harsh breath.

"Oh, so that's the problem," Snape rasped, his voice cutting the air like a knife. "You've seen me hurt people rather severely indeed, when one takes into account those visions of yours."

"I wasn't thinking of that," Harry denied as he stepped past Snape and back out to the parlour. "I just don't expect much of people. So, what _are_ you going to do to me?"

"Oh, for your _punishment?_ " Snape softly inquired. "Do you expect a detention, Harry? Or considering what you think you know of me, greater acquaintance with _Cruciatus?_ I told you, did I not, that I am not given to wanton cruelty?"

Harry raised his chin and waited.

"It is actually my opinion that the Ministry has punished you enough," Snape pronounced, his dark eyes calculating as he looked down at the younger man. "Go back to Gryffindor, now, and get some rest. I have decided you have been under too much stress. Tomorrow, and on Friday, I don't want you coming down here to study. Go flying on both evenings, is that clear? I will see you on Saturday."

With that, he went back to his bedroom and closed the door, leaving Harry to find his own way out.

  
  
  
  


** Wednesday, May 27, 1998 ---- 9:13 p.m. **

"Bad luck there in Potions today," Ron sympathised when Harry threw himself down onto his bed.

"It wasn't luck," Harry groaned. "It was practically fate." Then, with a small measure of surprise, "You're talking to me?"

"Well, I'm not in Advanced Potions," Ron pointed out. "Though I almost feel I am, I've heard the story so many times."

"No, the good luck charm thing?"

"Oh, well I figure your performance today pretty much puts an end to that theory." Ron shrugged.

"Hermione's really mad, I think," Harry moaned.

"Harry, she was just upset that you could have been killed or something. You should have come sat with us at dinner. She'd have told you that herself. Or told me to tell you, more like."

Harry glanced up in surprise. "You think?"

"Yeah, _I think_ ," Ron said, throwing a pillow at him. "Come on, nobody's that mad. Well, maybe Malfoy. Everybody else thinks it's kind of funny. We've all wanted to blow up Snape's classroom, you know."

"The Ravenclaws didn't think it was so funny."

"Well, they're Ravenclaws," Ron declared. "No sense of adventure. Listen, Hermione even said it was a good thing because now she has a couple of extra days to study!"

"That sounds like Hermione."

"Yeah."

Harry tossed the pillow back. "Okay. Want to go flying with me tomorrow night?"

"Shouldn't we prep for Friday's N.E.W.T.s?"

"I'm studied to death," Harry announced, thinking of what Snape had said. Not that he really believed the Potions Master had meant it about Harry being under too much stress. Since when did Snape care about stress?He'd chosen to spend his life _inducing_ stress! He probably didn't want Harry coming down to study because he knew there was no point. He wasn't brilliant like Hermione, and no amount of revision was going to change that. "Let's go down to the pitch and run Quidditch moves. Friday night, too. We can't celebrate properly anyway, not until the others finish that Potions retake." 

"Sure," Ron said. "Sounds good. We'll celebrate the end of N.E.W.T.s on Saturday."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, even though he knew that for him, Saturday was out. He'd have to think of some excuse to tell Ron. All this lying was really getting old, but it had to be better than the alternative. _Guess what that prophecy was all about, Ron? I have to become a slave. Snape's slave. Snape's sex slave. And I have go practice getting naked with him now, okay?_

Excuses it was.


	19. Chapter 19

 

 

** Thursday, May 28, 1998 ---- 7:00 p.m. **

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore said as the Potions Master quietly shut his office door the next evening. "Would you care for a cup of tea? You've yet to try that fairy-raised blend that Harry enjoyed so much."

"Earl Black," Snape returned. "And in a regular teacup, if you please. I've no need to see my refreshment dance across your desk."

"As you wish," Dumbledore replied, closing his eyes and thinking. In just a moment, a house-elf arrived with a small popping noise and served them both. 

"Now, what can I do for you, my boy?" the headmaster inquired. "I trust you're not about to let Harry's small mishap in the classroom disrupt the good progress I believe you're making?"

 _Small mishap?_ Severus decided he'd just as soon not get into what he thought of Harry's performance during the N.E.W.T. practical. "Headmaster, progress is the entire reason I wished to see you," he explained, taking a swallow of the tea. Ah, just the way he liked it. Brewed strong, the flavour almost acidic, the temperature enough to burn if you let it sit in the mouth too long.

"Oh?" Albus asked, peering out over his half-moon spectacles. One of his more ridiculous mannerisms, Severus had always thought.

"Harry has been acting quite oddly for the past few days," Severus began. "At first things were going well, as I told you. He had adjusted, as well as could be expected, to the prospect of undertaking _Podentes_ with me. He was even... cooperating, in the necessary preparations. But now?" Severus shrugged. "I can't fathom it. He's taken on a docile attitude which is really quite unlike him. It worries me on a number of different levels. At first I was concerned primarily because I suspected the strain of such a pretence would unravel at the invocation. Lately, it has occurred to me that if we _do_ invoke while Harry is in this... state, the spell will fail regardless."

"Why is that?" Albus asked, his finger stroking his cup, which was of course purring. 

" _Podentes_ requires that Harry willingly yield up all of himself. How can he do that if his submission is some clever bit of play-acting? It's as if he's repressing his true thoughts on the matter. That may well make a difference to the spell."

"I see your point. And your other reasons?"

"I don't like to see him behaving in such a disturbed manner. Albus, two weeks ago the young man had no trouble whatsoever standing up to me. Now, he's positively cowed. I don't care if he gains _thrice-_ filled powers; he won't be able to defeat the Dark Lord if he's so _placid_ about everything."

"Have you spoken to Harry?"

"He just throws _more_ submission at me every time I try. I tell him I don't care for his behaviour, and he simply requests I tell him in finer detail how to act, so that he can do it!"

"Hmm. Not an unreasonable request from his point of view, though I do understand the problem."

"How do I break through it?" Severus asked, surprised to hear an edge of desperation in his tone. "I've tried making unreasonable demands on his obedience, and he simply complies. Neither do insults make any difference."

"Insults? Severus," the headmaster made a few chiding clucking noises. "Those are hardly going to help, all things considered."

"I thought he'd stand up for his father. He always used to."

"Yes, well, back then he wasn't facing lifelong enslavement to the one doing the insulting, you know. Perhaps he's merely being prudent. Or..." Albus paused for a moment, the fingers of one hand stroking his beard. "I wonder..."

"What?" Severus pressed, leaning forward. Tea sloshed into his saucer. 

"I suspect you're over-reacting," Albus began. "It sounds to me as though he's going through a spot of depression, which is certainly understandable. And too, he may just be starting his summer early. Severus, how much do you know about Harry's family?"

"They're Muggles and he stays with them each summer." His eyes narrowed. "What else is there to know?"

"Harry would prefer to stay elsewhere. He has several times asked if he might go to the Weasleys, or even remain here. Of course, I had to insist he return to Little Whinging."

"Of course," Severus murmured. No need to explain, he was well aware of the sacrificial magic warding the place where Lily's blood still lived. "What does that have to do with his behaviour, now?" 

"Only this," Albus offered. "Since I explained at the end of his fifth year just why he needs to reside with his mother's blood each summer, he hasn't once asked me for respite. You see, Severus, Harry is quite accustomed to the idea that his own wishes must yield to the greater good. I think he's merely doing with you what he's learned to do when the school year comes to a close. He's pushing down his true desires so that he can do his duty, as it were."

"Gryffindor," Severus pronounced, sighing. 

"Exactly."

"Though he wasn't like this at first, Headmaster."

"No, I expect it took him a spot of time to realise that his summer--which for him is a time of self-sacrifice, you see--had come early. It's really almost to be expected, this behaviour. If I were you, I'd be more concerned about his state of mind come September."

"When summer ends," Severus realised, finishing his tea.

"Yes. He's quite used to putting up with his relatives for a season at a time. When it truly dawns on him that his obligation to the spell is for life?" Albus lightly shuddered. "I can't imagine what he'll do. You are aware that he accidentally inflated his aunt one summer? But of course he's older, now, and more mature."

"Older, at least," Severus darkly commented. "He knows that _Podentes_ is for life, however. I was most clear on that point."

"He knows it here," Albus returned, pointing to his temple. "He doesn't know it here." He placed a wrinkled hand over his heart.

"But it will dawn on him come September first," Severus acknowledged. "Yes, I understand. Why do you speak of him _putting up_ with his relatives? For that matter, what caused the incident with the aunt?"

"I don't know the details about the aunt; Harry merely said that he had lost his temper and would be more careful in future. He didn't want me to pry, so I didn't. What I do know, Severus, is that Harry isn't terribly well-appreciated at home. Did you ever hear Lily speak of her sister?"

Severus crossed his legs, one knee over the other, and sat back, steepling his hands. "No. I was aware she was Muggle-born, of course, but with the Dark Lord growing ever more bold and active in those days, she had enough sense not to call undue attention to her birth."

"Ah. Well, to say that Petunia Dursley is wizard-averse is putting the case a bit mildly. The whole family is absolutely terrified of sorcery. My understanding is that they don't even tolerate the word _magic_ to be spoken in their home. Until Hagrid went to fetch him, Harry had no idea whatsoever that he was a wizard."

"Strange way to let the hero of wizardry be raised, Albus," Severus commented, staring levelly at the headmaster. "You wanted him to grow up away from his fame, I know. Minerva mentioned as much. But to place him where he wouldn't even be told the truth about himself?"

"It kept him alive. I had no way of knowing that it would take Voldemort so many years to come back, or that his followers would fade into the woodwork during his long absence. We were at war at that time, remember. I feared greatly for him, and did what I thought best."

Severus nodded. He understood difficult choices. "These Muggles who raised him," he asked. "It occurs to me to wonder, if they are so wizard-averse, did they mistreat Harry?"

"Oh, yes," Albus admitted, regret evident in the creases around his blue eyes. "Harry's smaller than James was at his age; have you noticed as much?"

"It is difficult not to, when James was nearly my own height and Harry only comes to here," Severus acknowledged, indicating a spot an inch below his shoulder. 

"He will doubtless grow a bit more," Albus remarked. "I think you are remembering James at twenty, not eighteen. For all that, though, Harry is painfully thin each September. I think he'd be taller by now if he ate as well in the summers as he does, here."

Suddenly Harry's strange behaviour made a bit more sense. He hadn't asked for more dinner that first Saturday because he was accustomed to adults using hunger as a weapon. Perhaps his table manners were so terrible because he'd learned to eat fast while there was still food to be had...

Severus sighed. Alastor Moody had tried to tell him that Harry's Muggle family didn't dote on him, had actually mentioned having to threaten the uncle once. And Arthur Weasley could tell stories, too. Food packages every summer, bars across Harry's window, a dreadful scene of the Dursleys not even wanting to tell Harry good-bye when he was leaving them at the end of one summer. Severus had discounted it all. After all, Mad Eye was notoriously paranoid about seeing harm where none was, and most of Weasley's tales originated with his sons, _not_ the most reliable of informants. 

"Harry was made to sleep in a cupboard under the stairs," Albus was going on. "And this, while their own child was allotted _two_ of the upstairs bedrooms."

Severus just stared for a moment, then scoffed, " _That_ is a fabrication, Albus. Something Potter made up for attention, though Merlin only knows why he'd need more of it."

"I knew about his cupboard before he came here. In fact, his Hogwarts letter was addressed that way. _Harry Potter, the cupboard under the stairs._ My little way of warning Petunia that it had gone on long enough and she'd better move him upstairs thereafter. Which she did. Did you know they threw away his letter? Over and over. They didn't want him trained in wizardry. That was why Hagrid had to fetch him to us."

Another scoff, but this one conveyed no doubt. "One would think they'd have leapt at the chance to have him off their hands for several months, if they felt him such a burden." Severus frowned as the counter to that occurred to him. "I suppose they feared that if he learned any formal sorcery, he might put it to use against them."

"Either that, or it was actually their strange way of showing love," Albus remarked. "The sentiment is misplaced, to say the least, but I get the feeling all they ever wanted was for him not to be what they term a _freak_."

"Well, I might as well know the rest of it," Severus pronounced, thinking of the way Harry kept worrying about the _Cruciatus_ curse. _I don't expect much of people,_ he had said. The comment had been casual, but Severus now suspected it had harboured grim undertones indeed. "There is more, I take it? Well? Did that Muggle uncle of his try to beat the magic out of him?"

"Not to my knowledge."

Not to his _knowledge._ Wasn't that bloody wonderful. "You didn't want to know," Severus accused. "Because then you might have had to do something. You valued the wards more than the truth of what might be going on in that house."

"Hmm," Albus said, popping a sherbet lemon into his mouth. "And what is your rationale for your own wilful blindness, Severus? After all, you did know that he wasn't actually James."

"I didn't know he was being abused by his caretakers," Severus grated.

"Would you have cared?"

A moment's hesitation, and then the honest answer. "No."

"Interesting that you appear to care, now."

"He's my bloody responsibility now, and you know it," Severus snapped. "I have to find a way to cross my powers into his. I don't _care_ , otherwise."

"As you say," the headmaster murmured. "Now, as for Harry's odd behaviour. You might consider explaining your concerns as regards the invocation of the spell. I wouldn't particularly advise any more efforts to insult or goad him into behaving more like himself. You'd be wiser to begin as you mean to go on."

Recognizing the dismissal, Severus stood. He was already at the door when he heard the old wizard adding, "Oh, and do let him speak with Miss Granger again, will you? This notes nonsense is really getting quite silly."


	20. Chapter 20

 

 

** Saturday, May 30, 1998 ---- 10:00 a.m. **

On Saturday, Harry wore the green shirt again. Severus somehow doubted that was a coincidence. He watched with shadowed eyes as the young man dusted himself off, his hands brushing shoulders and chest and hips. Severus felt heat rise in him at the sight, and briefly considered putting off their visit to Strasgard, but the more rational part of his mind knew that intimacies were better saved until evening, by which time, Severus hoped, Harry would be feeling more at ease.

"So, your exams are over at last," he neutrally commented. "Somehow, you don't look very celebratory."

Harry didn't reply, though his gaze went wary, as though looking for a meaning hidden behind the words. 

"Today's likely to be quite a bit different from our usual routine," Severus began, rather shocked to see Harry's face draining of colour at the innocuous words. "What?"

Shifting on his feet, his gaze sliding away, Harry murmured, "It's nothing."

 _Begin as you mean to go on,_ Severus thought. A lot of the advice Albus dispensed was nonsensical, but not that. After all, he'd told Harry the same thing.

"You haven't gone the shade of powdered chalk over nothing," he clearly stated. "And it wasn't my intention to alarm you, so do me the honour of explaining how I managed it."

Apparently, his ceiling was of considerable interest, for Harry began to study it as he spoke. "Well, exams are over, like you said. So what am I supposed to think when you say today will be... um, _different?_ "

Severus frowned. "Are you alluding to something? I have no idea what you mean."

Harry's gaze snapped to his, at that, though his voice remained low. "You said a while back that we wouldn't do anything 'terribly physical' until after exams were over, that's all."

"Ah," Severus said, taking a moment to think. He couldn't help but wonder what Harry was anticipating. Surely he couldn't think Severus meant to take him already, could he? Actually, perhaps he could, considering that he'd been expecting as much on their first night together. Thus far, he'd avoided telling Harry too much, counting it a sound practice for the young man to learn to follow his lead, but this once, he supposed, it wouldn't do too much harm to alleviate his worries.

"Harry," he explained, stepping closer, "would you like to know what I have in mind for us, this evening?"

Again the gaze went wary, his jaw clenching ever so slightly with the tension. "You'll tell me?"

"Not always. But today, yes. If you wish."

He saw Harry sway slightly on his feet as though his legs might buckle beneath him, saw his stance adopt that slightly strange angle that meant he had locked his knees. "Um, I'm not sure if it's better to know or not, actually," he admitted in a strangled tone. "Oh, God. Um, will I have to take off more than my shirt?"

Severus almost laughed. In another context, a guessing game would be rather... invigorating. With the young man quaking with dread, however, he thought he'd better just end it. "No. We'll do as we have before; that's working quite well. And we'll simply add in a kiss."

"A kiss," Harry echoed, his legs buckling after all. Severus snaked a hand behind him and pulled him back upright, bringing him closer in the process.

"More than one, I should think," he softly admitted.

When the deep breathing started, Severus didn't think he could stand it. He gave Harry a sharp shake, which startled the worst of it away, enough for the young man to gasp out, "Um, you kiss me all the time. Neck, back..."

Ironic that he sounded so hopeful over it.

"A real kiss. Don't look so horror-struck. I'll use _Sensatus_. I dare say you'll survive the experience."

"I think I'd rather not have known," Harry moaned. 

"Would you rather we skip it, then?" Severus knew it was wrong to be insulted, but knowing didn't stop the feeling from roiling through him. "We could just proceed to the next logical thing, which I dare say _would_ involve removing more than your shirt--"

"I need a drink of water!" Harry gasped. 

"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Severus exclaimed. "Here!" He conjured one on the spot and thrust it into Harry's shaking hand. And then, the moment the young man had quaffed the contents, he touched his lips with his wand, incanted _Sensatus_ , and pulled him into a close embrace.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 30, 1998 ---- 10:22 a.m. **

Lips on his, hard firm lips, but they weren't violent, not this time. Warm and teasing, they coaxed Harry's mouth open, moving slowly to flood him with sensation. The kiss grew hot then, and he opened his mouth wider to let it take him, his heart pounding, a rush of sound in his ears as a sweep of black hair brushed them. His legs gave way beneath him, the feeling of it strangely familiar, but he was pressed tightly against someone, and didn't fall. 

His hands went slack, the glass slipping from between his fingers to shatter on the hard stone of the dungeon floor, the sound of it breaking a symphony of dancing noise.

And then it was abruptly over, except for the arm at his back still holding him steady. 

Harry looked up, his eyes wide with shock, his whole body still pinioned by the spell, and whispered, "You kissed me."

"Yes."

 _Sensatus_ began to lose its grip on him. "Why?"

Snape shrugged lightly, and let him go. "I thought it best to quell your nervous apprehension. Now that it's over and done with, you won't spend the entire day worrying yourself sick."

 _No, I'll just spend the entire day remembering_, Harry thought. _It was the spell,_ he told himself. _I didn't ask him to kiss me, and I didn't want him to kiss me, and if I enjoyed it at all, it was because of the spell._

He closed his eyes and tried to just accept the facts of life. His life, anyway. _So, Snape kissed me, and from the sound of things, he's going to do it again later. Probably like the thing with him making me take off my shirt, he'll do it all the time now that we've crossed that line. And I just have to get used to it, won't I? It's not my fault if he's really good at it--_

The young man groaned out loud standing there, and sternly told himself that he had _not_ just admitted to himself that Snape was a good kisser.

"Harry," Snape said, breaking his reverie. Good thing, probably. Harry had a feeling that if nothing had interrupted him, he might have stood there all day just trying to come to terms with that kiss. Snape must have sensed as much, for he said, "There's not that much to contemplate, surely?"

"Uh, no," he said, though his hands were still shaking with tension. "So, um, what now?" he asked, and immediately wished he hadn't. Images came to mind, ones he really didn't want to see. "Never mind. You're probably back to not telling me your plans."

"Actually, today's rather different for a number of reasons," Snape casually remarked as he turned aside and issued a _reparo_ to the glass Harry had dropped. "I mean to take you shopping."

Harry's jaw dropped open. "Er, shopping," he croaked. 

"For clothes," Snape clarified. He moved to take a seat on the settee, and indicated with a waved hand that Harry should join him. "Fairly soon, you should begin to divest yourself of anything not on your list of possessions. You'll need things to wear to the invocation, and beyond."

"Oh, right." Harry swallowed. "Um, I've been meaning to ask, actually. You know the accounting I got from the bank? Well, I have some other money besides that. Not a lot, it was just for buying things in Hogsmeade during the year..."

"Essentials like Chocolate Frogs, no doubt."

"Yeah, that's about it. But the gold I have up in my room came from my vault, which makes it a bloodline asset, I suppose, so I figured I have to give it to you along with the other stuff."

"Reasonable deduction. What is your question? You seem to be having some difficulty asking it."

Trust Snape to see past his hesitations. "Well, I was wondering what would happen if I spent it before the seventeenth. Would the magic in _Podentes_ see that as me invoking in bad faith?"

"You can spend it," Snape calmly answered. "Though of course when you dispose of your property you'll have to give away any such purchases. That isn't your real question, though, is it?"

"No, I'm following a logical chain," Harry murmured. "If I can spend the few Galleons I have in my trunk, why can't I spend the money in my vault?"

"You can."

"But you said you had to make sure I didn't do something foolish like give away my bloodline assets. _That's_ my question. If I can spend my gold, why can't I give it away?"

"The magic between us will be created, or not, out of your willingness to give yourself entirely to me, Harry," Snape explained. "The spell will sense bad faith if you try to evade its requirements. So while I should think it's perfectly acceptable for you to purchase a new quill if you need one, it would not be wise for you to give money away to others in preference to me."

"Hmm. What if I bought a quill from Ron, say, and paid him more than the going rate?"

"The spell reads intentions. Do you really want to put this whole enterprise at risk?"

"No, not really," Harry admitted. "I was just wondering."

"Spend your last few Galleons as you wish, but only on rational purchases. Now, for today. We will need to take some precautions, as it would be most unwise for me to be seen taking Harry Potter clothes shopping. The Dark Lord would wonder why, if I could get you out of Hogwarts, I did not take you directly to him. Therefore, we will avoid any venue where we might be recognised."

That all made sense, so Harry nodded. "Where are we going, then?"

"Norway."

Harry laughed, but then he realised that Snape was serious. All the breath whooshed out of his lungs. "Norway? Are we going to Floo all the way there?"

"Yes, and long Floo journeys can be a trifle unpleasant," Snape remarked. "But that is no matter. Now, several other precautions. After we arrive, I will spell us with concealment charms so that we blend in with the local population. We will still look our normal selves to each other."

Harry nodded again, then thought better of it and pointed to his forehead.

"You are correct. No magic will obscure your scar," Snape admitted. "But this will." He drew a squat jar from an outer pocket of his robes. "It's a Muggle product for correcting skin tones. It will serve, but I would advise you to keep your fringe brushed down, as well."

Harry smeared a bit of it on the side of his hand and frowned. Unlike a potion, it didn't sink in; it just sat greasy and thick on the surface of his skin.

"Take this as well," Snape directed, handing him a handkerchief. "Keep it folded. If you unfurl it and say _Quidditch captain,_ it will become a portkey to take you to a safe house. From there you will be able to Floo back to my quarters. Do not use it unless you must."

"Quidditch captain?"

"The headmaster spelled it. One more thing," Snape warned. "Until we arrive back here, we'll use no names. I do not anticipate any trouble; there are no Death Eaters known to reside in Scandinavia, but there is no sense in tempting fate."

Harry sighed. It seemed like an awful lot of bother just for clothes.

"What?" Snape asked, and when Harry set his lips, insisted, "I do not want you to remain in silence if you have a valid objection or a rational question."

"You don't?"

"Harry," Snape said in a dark tone.

"Um, well why don't you just owl a list to a shop?"

Snape curled his upper lip in contempt. "You cannot get well-fitted clothes that way, though it comes as no shock to me that you do not know this. Well? I can tell you have more to say." His sneer became a hiss. "And so?"

Harry blinked, wondering what was going on. Snape seemed... different this morning, even without counting the kiss. _No, don't think about that kiss..._ "After all the times you've lectured me on thinking more of my safety, it just seems strange to risk it over a good fit, that's all."

"The danger is non-existent in my opinion," Snape pronounced. "And I am in a position to know. But precautions are always a good idea. It occurs to me to ask, for reference, about your Apparation. The Order was told when you had passed your test, but the license requirements are minimal. What is the farthest you have successfully Apparated?"

"Well, not to Norway," Harry scoffed. "Not even all the way across England. I could manage to cross a few counties before I splinched myself, but it really did take a lot out of me."

"You will have to work on that," Snape observed. "But the Floo will serve for today. Are you ready?" He stood up, and Harry stood too.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 30, 1998 ---- 11:03 a.m. **

Harry had never thought about it, but perhaps every wizarding city had its own version of Diagon Alley. Strasgard's was no less spectacular than London's, and Harry could have spent all day just window shopping, though of course they didn't have time for that. Snape led him straight through the twisted cobblestone street to a tailoring shop, and proceeded to converse in fluent Norwegian with the short witch who greeted him. Harry had to repress an urge to roll his eyes. First Hindustani, and now Norwegian. Snape was quite likely as bloody brilliant as Hermione, which meant that the man was right to think him stupid. Compared to him, Harry was.

A flurry of activity ensued, with Harry quickly swept behind a screen, sign language indicating to him that he should strip down to his pants. He didn't want to, and tried to say as much, but the woman attending him either knew no English, or pretended not to. He had to cut out refusing though, when Snape's deep voice announced that he'd prefer not to have to come back there. Harry reluctantly doffed his shoes, then shimmied out of his blue jeans and took off his shirt. A slight breeze made him shiver as the woman approached and began measuring him like mad. She was pretty brusque about it, too, drawing her wand right up his bare leg all the way to his crotch, her arm brushing against things there were _none_ of her business. She didn't appear to notice she was embarrassing him. Her attention was focussed on calling out short bursts of information to an assistant who recorded them on a narrow length of parchment. Every so often she would laugh deep in her throat and make some more lengthy remark, to which Snape would reply in a tone full of good humour.

It only got worse after the measurements were done with. Harry dressed and came back out to the front, only to find Snape sitting at a table with the woman. She was quizzing him about something, and gestured frequently to Harry. It almost sounded like an argument, with the woman vehement about something and Snape calm but firm in his opposition. Harry didn't care much about that; obviously Snape was telling her what garments he wanted, and she disagreed for some reason. The part that bothered him was the way the woman kept _looking_ at him. She thought he was Snape's young lover; he could _tell_ she thought so. Maybe it was her husky laugh when Snape would say this or that, or the slight quirk to her lips, but it was there, clear as day.

Harry felt very uncomfortable about the whole thing, and that was before Snape paid her with coins that sparkled gold, for all they weren't Galleons. The Norwegian equivalent, he supposed, but as they passed into the woman's hand, she gave Harry another _look_ , and this one transcended all language barriers. _Oh, he is generous, this man who keeps you,_ it said.

Unable to stand it another second, Harry dove out the front door and walked three steps to get away from the display window, then leaned up against the brick building and tried to catch his breath.

"Any particular reason for that immature display?" Snape sharply inquired when he came out a moment later.

Harry shook his head, which earned him a glower, but at least Snape dropped the topic. He walked off, leaving Harry to half-run to keep up with his much longer stride.

"Um, so are we going back now?"

"Hardly," Snape scoffed. "We still need to arrange for you to have robes, and casual wear, if you wish. But you shouldn't need to be measured again, if that's any consolation. I have a copy."

In the robes shop, Harry sat mute, nursing the glass of wine he'd been given, watching while Snape once again took charge and explained what he wanted. This time it didn't seem to involve quite so much arguing, and Harry didn't get the feeling anyone was interested in his sex life, but he still couldn't help but frown when Severus pulled out gold and paid.

"So, a late lunch, I should think," he pronounced as they left the shop. He steered Harry towards a small outdoor café and pulled out his chair before seating himself. Tapping his wand on the tablecloth, Snape glanced down and murmured, "What would you like?"

Harry sat back in his chair. "I don't know what they serve."

That had the Potions Master glancing up. "Oh. Tap the table to see the menu."

Harry did, not that it did _him_ much good. "I can't read Norwegian."

"Shall I order for you?"

 _Why not?_ Harry thought. _You just picked out my clothes without a word to me, as though you're in charge of my whole life. But wait! You are!_

Out loud, all he said was a rather sullen, "Sure."

"All right." Snape sat back, too, and assessed Harry with a level look. "What is wrong? Talk."

"It's nothing."

"It is not nothing," Snape disputed. "Let us be clear here. I do not want you to submerge your thoughts and opinions beneath some facade you believe I prefer. You have been doing just that for over a week, and I have had enough of it." When Harry just sat silent, he pressed, "You have no response?"

Harry tightened his lips. "I don't know what you expect me to say."

"That's just the problem," Snape returned. "I do not want you to say what I expect! How can I be any clearer? I want you to be yourself, even if it means annoying me!"

"Why would you want that?"

" _Because,_ " Snape harshly whispered, "anything less is bad faith in a way that makes your Galleons question pale in comparison. We cannot discuss it in detail, here, but believe me, you will put our entire endeavour in jeopardy if you cannot let go of your insane dependence on this persona that is not really you!"

Harry took a moment to think about that. He didn't really follow the logic, mostly because he _wasn't_ projecting some persona that wasn't him. He was just trying to cope in the only way he knew how.

"Still nothing to say?" Snape softly snarled. "Well? Talk to me."

"About?"

"Let's begin with why you frowned when I offered to order for you. And do not insult my intelligence again by claiming there was nothing wrong."

Harry folded his hands into his lap. "I just didn't like it."

"Why, for Merlin's sake?"

"Because you just picked out all my clothes, too, like I was some... some..."

"Talk!"

"Like I was your doll," Harry hissed, his eyes gleaming furiously. "And all the while that awful _woman_ was eyeing me! God only knows what she was saying to you to make you laugh, but I didn't like it, all right? _And_ I don't like you buying things for me!"

"Quite a catalogue of complaints," Snape remarked. A waiter came by then, a strange creature that looked about half-house-elf to Harry. Snape murmured something to send it away, saying to Harry, "I told him we need more time. Let's deal with your concerns one at a time. I have to buy things for you, do I not?"

"I know," Harry admitted. "The dependence just rankles."

"Is that because your relatives were undependable?"

Harry stared, wondering just how much Snape knew about the Dursleys. "I... uh, never thought of it that way."

"You're in my care now. Do you doubt my ability to discharge that duty competently?"

Snape watched him carefully, Harry noticed. "No."

"My willingness, perhaps?"

That one was harder. He'd expected Snape to use the whole _Podentes_ deal to torment him in all sorts of new ways. It was pretty clear by then that that wasn't the case. "Not really," Harry admitted. "I think I might have at first, but even that was sort of stupid of me, I realise. I mean, you read my journal. I do know how many times you've saved my life."

Snape nodded. "Now, as for dressing you like a doll. That was perhaps insensitive of me. It seemed more efficient for me to handle all the details, as you don't speak the language. Moreover, I was buying you a formal wardrobe and assumed, given your upbringing, that you wouldn't have much experience in that arena."

"All right," Harry sighed. That made sense. "Really, I don't think I care that much--"

"Yes, you do," Snape interrupted. "I should have realised earlier. Now, as for Frau Lichnen's behaviour--" 

"Why should she assume what she did?" Harry erupted, furious. "That's really rude. For all she knows, we might just be friends!"

"The concealment spells have preserved the disparity in our ages. That, and the fact that I was obviously your provider--"

"Any normal person would assume it means you're my father!"

Snape scowled. "There are some things I suppose I would prefer you not say. I know you cannot be happy that you have ended up with a man, let alone a contemporary _of_ your father's, but there is nothing to be done about any of that."

"Yeah, I know," Harry admitted. "I just meant... we didn't _do_ anything to make her start thinking stuff like that."

"Actually, we did," Snape revealed. "Look around and tell me how many wizards you see walking about without robes. Hmm, yes, you didn't wear yours down this morning, and I confess I didn't give the matter much thought as robes were one of the things I intended to purchase for you in any case. I believe Frau Lichnen thought I'd brought you out like that so that I could... ah, enjoy the view."

"What?" Harry asked, confused. "Oh, that's ridiculous. It's not like my jeans are tight."

"They are more form-fitting than robes, certainly, so it is no great wonder she saw fit to compliment your various attributes. I found it amusing."

Of course he had, Harry reflected, when to Snape, Harry was nothing but a short, scrawny runt. Presumably, the concealment spells meant the seamstress hadn't seen him that way. "Are the measurements even going to be accurate?" he thought to ask. "I mean, with the charm you did when we arrived?"

"Oh, that only affects faces," Snape waved the concern away. "But it made for an interesting dispute with Frau Lichnen. She kept trying to insist on Nordic colours for your..." he coughed slightly. "Fair beauty. I disagreed. So. Are you ready to have lunch, then? Take a look at your menu."

"I still don't read Norwegian," Harry groused. It didn't make him feel great that Snape was making fun of his looks. Again. Not that he wanted the man to find him _attractive_ , certainly. The mere idea was disturbing. But still, he was sick and tired of Snape's constant taunts.

"It shares a Germanic base with English," Snape remarked. "I suspect you can read more of it than you realise. For example..." Reading upside down, he levelled a finger against a menu item. " _Spinatsuppe._ What do you think that could mean?"

"We're not all brilliant linguists, S--" Remembering the admonition against names, Harry cut himself off. Just as well, since he'd been going to say _Snape._ That probably wouldn't have gone over well.

"It's two words. _Spinat_ and _suppe_."

"Spinning soup? Oh, spinach soup."

"Try another one," Snape suggested.

Harry studied the menu. Most of it was incomprehensible, of course, but... " _Fiskesalat._ Um, fish salad?"

Snape nodded, a small smile lurking on his lips. Or maybe more of a smirk. " _Marinert makrell?_ "

"Marinated mackerel, I suppose."

"Yes, so what would you like?"

Harry tapped the table again to spell the menu away. "Well, I'm not in the mood for spinach or fish, and everything else _didn't_ look like English."

" _Dyresteg,_ " Snape suggested. "Roast venison in a sauce of goat cheese. It's quite good. With _lefse_... potato pancakes. And for dessert, _skillingsbolle_. How does that sound?"

"Pretty good, except for the snitch for dessert."

Snape chuckled softly. "Cinnamon buns." He tapped the table too, which appeared to summon the waiter as well as vanish the menu.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 30, 1998 ---- 2:18 p.m. **

Lunch was rather pleasant once he'd finally convinced Harry to talk more freely, Severus decided. After they had finished and were sipping cups of fragrant tea, he pulled a scarlet velvet pouch from his robes and tossed it across the table. "This morning's purchases should be ready in a few more hours. I thought in the interim we should acquire some casual clothes for you. Would you like to see to that on your own?"

Harry shoved the money pouch away. "I'd rather just skip it."

"Surely you don't want to wear trousers and collared shirts all the time."

"It's okay."

He was doing it again, Severus realised. Hiding his discomfort, pretending nothing was wrong, concealing who he really was. "What is the matter, now?" he sighed, his tone making the question a command.

"You've already spent a lot of money," Harry shrugged, not meeting his eyes. "I'm sure I can make do."

"Did you give your aunt and uncle this much trouble every time they took you shopping?" Severus exclaimed, frustrated. 

He didn't get a reaction he could readily interpret. Harry wrinkled his nose, some memory clearly distasteful, but his eyes reflected puzzlement, as though he had no sensible reply to that and was trying to formulate one. It looked like nothing so much as that neither _yes_ nor _no_ had any bearing on the question. Severus suddenly realised what the truth must be. "They never took you shopping at all, did they?" he quietly asked. "They never bought you any clothes? How is that possible?"

"I wore my cousin Dudley's cast-offs," Harry muttered, twisting his hands in his napkin. "He's older, and they always bought him scads more clothes than he needed, so there was plenty, all right?"

Evidently, he'd hit a nerve. Severus glanced at the green shirt Harry had on. "That was your cousin's? Are his eyes the same colour as yours?"

"Oh, no," Harry admitted, flushing a bit. "A few years after I came into my Gringotts' gold I got a chance to buy some things on my own, and since then I've sort of kept to a vow to not wear Dudley's stuff, ever. Well, except when I'm home for the summer. I have to wear it, then."

Severus frowned. "Why did it take you years to go shopping for yourself? And why would you hide your purchases from your family?"

"Simple," Harry announced, wiping his mouth and throwing the napkin down to the table. He used more force than was warranted. "I couldn't let them know I had any money. They'd have taken it away claiming I owed them for raising me. It's a moot point now that you're taking it all."

"Well," Severus announced, "I understand your reservations better, I suppose, but that doesn't change the facts of the matter. You'll have to get used to me providing for you. Starting now, as I don't imagine you want to wander the dungeons barefoot. We've yet to get you any shoes."

Harry made a face. "Or socks or underwear, I bet."

"I did order sufficient of the latter," Severus murmured, realizing only then that Harry might take issue with that. He didn't want the young man any more uncomfortable than necessary, so he thought to offer, "Of course you can choose some ready-made, as you wish. It occurs to me now that you might not care for my selection."

Harry, he saw, was having a hard time swallowing his last sip of tea. Actually, it looked a bit as though he might have snorted some up into his nose. "You-ordered-underwear," he gasped, a strangled laugh caught somewhere in his throat.

"You won't be able to keep your own," Severus pointed out, quite reasonably, he thought. It only made Harry laugh harder. "I thought you'd want some."

"What kind?" Harry abruptly asked. 

"Silk."

"Silk," Harry repeated, pressing his lips together, that time. "Why would you have them made in... oh--"

"Yes, that's what I wear," Severus tightly informed him. He really didn't see what was so funny about the matter. "They're quite comfortable."

"I don't want to know the details of _that_ ," Harry said, swallowing the rest of his tea as he calmed down. "Um, can I go into the Muggle part of town to get the rest of the things I need? I've found wizarding shops don't do so well at stocking casual clothes."

"You're asking me to let you go into Muggle Strasgard alone?"

Harry stared at him. "I figured you'd come." The money was still sitting there on the table between them; he pushed it more towards Severus. "Even if we didn't have to worry about... ah, your old set stumbling upon us, I'd still need you along. I can't even count in Norwegian."

"Very well," Severus agreed. 

"Do you know the Muggle part of the city?"

"Hardly. Shall we go?"


	21. Chapter 21

 

 

** Saturday, May 30, 1998 ---- 3:27 p.m. **

To Harry's surprise, Snape didn't interfere much as they wandered the Muggle part of town, looking for clothing stores. He translated for Harry when Harry asked him, and paid the bills, but other than that, kept his comments to a minimum. 

After a few hours, they returned to the wizarding world, going to the robes shop first, where Harry had to try on the cloaks and capes and robes that Snape had ordered sewn up. Black, grey, green. Slytherin colors. Harry decided not to say anything about it, not even when Snape handed him a cloak the same colour as his shirt and told him to wear it home. 

The seamstress shop was a little better that time, and Harry had to wonder if Snape was right, and wearing something over his jeans made all the difference. Frau Lichnen this time was less openly lascivious, certainly, but of course they only stayed a moment. Just long enough for Snape to collect the neatly wrapped packages waiting for him. Thankfully, he didn't ask Harry to try on anything. 

They ate dinner in Strasgard, this time in a dimly lit restaurant that smelled strongly of cedar, and then returned to the public Floo they'd used to arrive. "Dungeon demesne," Snape whispered in his ear, then ushered him into the fireplace. Harry called out the coded words, and after a rough-and-tumble journey that seemed to take forever, found himself staggering out into Snape's parlour. He hurriedly scrambled out of the way, just in time to avoid being stepped on by the Potions Master who emerged looking as though he'd only Flooed down from the Great Hall, not all the way from Norway.

"Floo long distances enough, and you'll get used to it," Snape said in answer to his look of disgruntled astonishment. He took a moment to set aside the numerous bags and packages that had arrived in the hearth with him, then turned to regard Harry. "You do look rather sooty. That won't do. Go have a bath. I'll have clean clothes laid out for you on my bed by the time you're done."

Harry hesitated, though a bath did sound just the thing. That wasn't just because of the ash he could feel woven into his hair, it was also because all his muscles ached as though he'd just endured a grueling round of Quidditch. "Um, shouldn't you _Finite_ the concealment spells? I don't want to go back later still looking like someone else."

Snape's nostrils flared. "If this school had a decent Defence curriculum, you'd know that Flooing destroys most simple enchantments."

Harry took that to mean that Percy had been right, all those years ago. Snape really did want the Defence job, and he was none too pleased to have been repeatedly passed over in favor of instructors like Lockhart and Umbridge. 

"Okay, bath," he agreed, though it seemed really strange to. Still, he had enjoyed Snape's tub once before, and he'd be living here before long, so he supposed he really should just get used to things. "Um, how do you spell open the wizardspace?"

" _Revelares,_ " Snape told him. "Go on, now. I'll deal with all these purchases."

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 30, 1998 ---- 6:55 p.m. **

Harry soaked as long as he dared, then washed his hair with soap, as he didn't quite trust the unlabeled glass bottles strewn about. Some of them smelled like shampoo, but the one thing he _had_ learned in seven years of Potions was wariness. He used a spell to half-dry his hair so that it wouldn't stick up as badly as usual, and wrapped his lower body in a towel before he peeked out into Snape's bedroom. 

Thankfully, his teacher wasn't in evidence, though he'd left clothes, as he'd said. Harry was a little unnerved to see what Snape had left him. Socks but no shoes, and a pair of dark blue sweatpants Harry had picked out, but nothing else. Not even underwear, silk or otherwise. Shrugging, Harry pulled on the garments, and then wondered what to do. If Snape held true to form, and the lack of any shirt certainly suggested as much, then it was time for their usual Saturday touching session. Snape had said the day would be different, but it really hadn't been, trips abroad notwithstanding. Every Saturday had been the same. Business first, to deal with something the spell required, and then working on the physical side of things.

Should he go out and find Snape? Harry wasn't exactly comfortable just wandering around without a shirt -- he didn't do that even in the dormitory in the Tower. But neither did he want to wait here in Snape's bedroom. Too suggestive, that, and Harry had some hopes that maybe this evening, they could do their touching thing in front of the fire.

He made up his mind to go out to the parlour. Yes, definitely.

He _accioed_ a towel and slung it around his shoulders so he'd feel less self-conscious, but just then, Snape came in, closed the door, and gestured for him to sit on the end of the bed. "We need to reach a better understanding," the older man remarked as he sat down by his side. 

"Can we move this out to the other room?" Harry asked, more than a little desperately.

Snape shook his head. "No, we'll stay here. And you'll stop that trance-breathing you keep resorting to. If you're nervous, then just be nervous, Harry. We'll work through it."

"I'm nervous," Harry admitted.

"Because I said I'd kiss you? You survived it well enough earlier."

"You used _Sensatus--_ "

"I'll use the spell until you get used to things." Snape moved a hand to Harry's head and threaded his fingers through his hair. "You need to work on your drying charms, I think."

"Keeps my hair from sticking up so much," Harry muttered.

"Well, there is that," Snape admitted. Turning Harry to face him, he softly instructed, "Remember, no putting yourself to sleep, no deep breathing. I want you here with me as we touch and kiss. _You,_ not some shell of you. The spell's going to sense bad faith if you're not truly willing to do these sorts of things with me. All right?"

"All... right," Harry whispered shakily. 

Snape waved his wand, spelling away the artificial light in the room at the same time he lit candles and the fire in the hearth, then set his wand to the side. Harry looked at it, feeling sort of sick with dread just at the sight of it. So much power there. It could make him feel... everything; it could make things easier. But it also made him _respond_ , and that wasn't easy at all. Not afterwards. He pulled a deep breath in, then saw the other wizard shaking his head, and realised he'd almost started doing it, again. This was going to be more difficult than he'd envisioned, and that was really saying something.

With agonizing slowness, Snape pulled the towel from about his neck and dropped it to the floor. After that, he just waited, his dark eyes studying Harry.

"Oh," Harry said, realizing only slowly that it was his turn. He should have known. Snape seemed to be following a pattern, one that had been developing so slowly that it was hard to detect, but it was there. Once a line was crossed, they would cross over it again without much comment. Probably, after tonight, they'd be kissing all the time. Probably, Snape would make him get so used to it that _Sensatus_ would no longer be required.

He longed to go back to their first days, when a simple backrub was the extent of their contact. Of course, it hadn't seemed simple at all, not then, to sit there and let Snape massage him. And wasn't that a horrible thought. It meant that with enough practice, kissing Snape would likely begin to seem almost normal, too... But that was the point of all this, wasn't it? To get him used to intimacy so that someday soon, the unthinkable would become doable.

"I am actually waiting," Snape's deep voice broke into his contemplations. "Do we really need to structure our time together in terms of commands to be obeyed?"

That got Harry thinking, even as he began to move reluctant fingers to undo the man's shirt buttons. Black ebony, they seemed slicker than last time. Or maybe that was just because without the deep breathing, his hands seemed to be getting a bit sweaty, the nervousness building in him until he could hardly bear to stay on the bed. _And think,_ his mind kicked in. _You aren't even lying down yet._

"Um, isn't that what the spell has in mind, anyway?" Harry asked as he finally got one button free and fumbled with the next. "The master wizard giving commands?"

"I doubtless have the right, but if you're entering into the exchange with a true willingness to serve me, we shouldn't need a continuous stream of _do this, do that_. I'm not supposed to have to beat you into compliance, verbally or otherwise."

Harry finished the front and moved on to the cuffs, then helped Snape shrug the garment off. "Um, well..." He paused, his face flaming, because even though his question was about a shirt, it had implications for intimate activities, too. "Until I know your preferences, anyway, you'd better tell me what you want. So, um, should I hang this, or leave it for the house elves, or cast a cleaning charm of my own, or--"

"You can _Incendio_ it on the spot for all I care," Snape lazily drawled. "Use your brain, Harry. We're both half-naked, sitting in a candlelit bedroom, looking forward to an evening of physical pleasure. Do you really think I care what you do with my clothes as you take them off?"

"No." Harry blushed, and not just because he hadn't thought of things that way. It was also the lush imagery Snape's words called to mind. 

"Do you imagine I want to discuss it, even?" Snape pressed, hammering home the point.

Harry didn't answer that, though he did drop the shirt onto the floor. 

In response, Snape slid backwards on the velvet bedcover, settling himself against the pillows at the head of the bed, and wordlessly patted the spot next to him. Harry got the picture, loud and clear, and it wasn't just that Snape wanted him to move up next to him. He was also letting him know that prompting could come in forms other than verbal. 

He sidled up, propping himself on the pillows too, and immediately felt Snape's arm come curling around the back of his neck, the fingers teasing the hair at his nape before the man pulled him abruptly closer and settled a hand on his shoulder. Harry tensed, wanting his deep breathing, frustrated to have to deny himself and stay completely aware and conscious for the touching sure to come. He wanted to drift, to escape, to become that other person, the one who could stand this...

"Stop that breathing!" he heard Snape rebuke as though through a haze.

Harry hadn't even realised he'd fallen into it.

"Sorry," he gasped, his whole body jerking out of the strange calm it had acquired in those few seconds. He began breathing too fast to compensate, and felt Snape lean over and sharply nip his nearer shoulder to shock him back to himself. "Ouch!"

"That didn't hurt," Snape scoffed. He heard rather than saw the smirk curling the other man's lips. "Haven't you ever heard of a love-bite?"

"Love-bite!" Harry half-yelled. "No, in point of fact, I haven't!"

"My, my, you _are_ an innocent," Snape drawled, sarcasm in every word. Harry didn't know what his problem was. "But at least you're being your usual annoying self instead demonstrating once more your zombie impression. I don't know what gave you the idea I want a deep-breathing corpse in my bed, but I'll thank you in future to remember that you were mistaken."

"Yes, _sir,_ " Harry drawled with sarcasm of his own, only to correct himself right away. "Yes, _Severus_."

Snape suddenly pulled out the pillows from beneath both their heads so that Harry would lie flat on his back. Propped up on one elbow beside him, the Potions Master reached out a single finger and began to trace the contours of Harry's chest muscles, his touch a light and fleeting exploration. It was all Harry could do to concentrate on breathing normally. He alternately wanted to hold his breath or sink into a trance, but figured that either one would earn him another so-called love-bite.

"Quidditch does have its uses, it appears," Snape murmured. "You're quite well-toned. A pleasure to look at, in fact."

Harry closed his eyes and counted to fifty so he wouldn't utter some hex in reply. Not that he had his wand, but the words were dancing on his tongue, nonetheless. He'd been aware for some time that Snape was trying--as much as a sarcastic son-of-a-bitch could--to put him at ease when they had these "pleasure sessions," but words like that were taking things too far. Compliments from Snape. Yeah, right. Compliments about his _physical appearance._ Yeah, double-right. Since the man couldn't possibly mean a word of it, they didn't help. In fact, they made everything worse, underscoring as they did how horribly unappealing he must seem to Snape, so much so that the man actually had to talk himself into touching him, and out loud, of all things. 

Then again, Harry didn't want him to mean those things sincerely, either, so he was left feeling like he'd been stranded way out in No Man's Land, with no safe harbor anywhere.

Snape's whole hand was on him, now, the man still propped up beside him, looking down at him as he massaged downward toward Harry's lean, flat belly. Harry shivered a bit in response, and told himself not to worry about it. The man's hands were talented, no doubt about it, but it was just a rubdown, right? Like he got after Quidditch. Except then, nobody had _lingered_ like this, learning the feel of every muscle and tendon, every touch suggestive of wanting more. Certainly, your usual rubdown didn't include dark eyes staring at you, studying your every expression, or sly, self-satisfied smiles.

Snape was evidently in the mood for quite a _lot_ of touching, Harry quickly realised. 

"Roll over," the man directed. " _Accio salveo._ A proper backrub, I think. You seem tense."

"Yeah, wonder why?" Harry muttered.

Snape's answering laugh was full of dark mirth and swirling with undercurrents Harry really didn't comprehend. The smell of clover surrounded him as the slick hands on his back worked up and down his spine, expertly seeking out every bit of tension that filled Harry's frame. Against his will he relaxed into the velvet bedcover, his breathing slow yet shallow, his eyes losing focus until he closed them. He fumbled with his glasses to set them aside, then sank back down into the undeniable pleasure that Snape did know how to impart. This was all right, he thought. It wasn't really sexual, and it was nothing new. Just a backrub...

Until, that is, Snape moved to kneel across his legs, straddling him, Harry's calves absorbing the weight. _Snape's sitting on me,_ Harry thought with a kind of repressed hysteria. He thought of bucking him off, then decided it was really a bad idea on several levels, not the least of which was that he had told the honest truth that night in the tunnel. He _was_ bloody well trying to cooperate with whatever the damned _Podentes_ spell needed from him.

The pressure of Snape's hands grew stronger now that the man had more leverage. Harry let himself relax again, and just accepted it. Backrub, he told himself again. Nothing but a backrub. 

But Snape was intent on pushing limits, as if Harry hadn't figured out that much already. The man's hands were slipping beneath the waistband of his sweatpants to caress his hips, and then slipping lower still to knead his buttocks with swift, sure strokes. Harry gasped, outraged disbelief melding with a peculiar mental resignation that spoke inside his mind, saying, _What did you expect? He said things would become more intimate after exams. You didn't think he only meant a kiss, did you?_

"It's too soon," he heard himself say out loud. "I... can't."

"It's time," a deep voice answered him. "And you can. You are."

The hands moved to the side, to caress his hips, and Harry very nearly did flail, but realised in time that it was a really bad idea. Those hands just might slip around to the front of his hips if he lifted himself off the mattress. In fact, he was sure they would. Snape would do it just to teach him a lesson. So Harry pressed his lower body down firmly _into_ the fuzzy velvet of the bedcover, and had to suffer the sound of Snape's knowing chuckles as the hands moved back to palpate and caress his rounded cheeks. A hot blush suffused his face, another reason he was glad he was face-down.

Anger surged up to mask his embarrassment, as Harry demanded, the sound a bit muffled, "When the bloody hell can I have some _Sensatus?_ "

"When we kiss," Snape smoothly answered, his fingers exploring every inch of Harry's backside. "Shall we proceed to that, then?"

"No," Harry groaned, feeling like he was a fish caught in a net. His choices were limited to having Severus Snape kiss him _on the mouth_ , or putting up with more of this? Well, no question, he'd choose _this_ , even if he'd always considered his butt nobody's business but his own. Of course, _Podentes_ changed all that, didn't it? His arse was going to be quite literally Snape's private domain. Hell, maybe a kiss _would_ be better. In some ways it would be less... suggestive, perhaps.

But Harry couldn't bring himself to take back the vehement _no_ he'd already given.

At any rate, it appeared that Snape soon tired of _that_ portion of his anatomy. The man leaned forward, reaching toward his shoulders again, and rubbed them methodically. Harry breathed a sigh of relief; back on safe ground. He refused to dwell on the horrifying reality that _any_ amount of Snape touching him had somehow become _safe ground._

He wasn't safe for long, though. Without warning, Snape leaned forward to lay the length of his cool chest up against Harry's back, and began to kiss the back of his neck with a thoroughness that, in anyone else, could be mistaken for passion. In Snape, Harry figured, it just meant thoroughness. Harry was going to get _used_ to this, and that was all there was to it. Or so he imagined to be the other man's state of mind.

The awful part of being kissed like that was that by now, he _was_ used to it. He didn't need _Sensatus_ to feel it, either. Even without the spell, he felt it all the way down to his bones, which sort of melted under the onslaught. He couldn't help his breath from hitching slightly, couldn't stop the tiny hissed _ahhhh_ that the kisses teased from his lungs. He felt like some sort of instrument Snape had learned to play... and Snape was a virtuoso.

He'd felt awful the first time he'd realised that it wasn't just the spell making him enjoy the man's ministrations. And truth to tell, he still felt awful, though somewhere deep down he did know that it was just a physical reaction. It didn't mean anything. Not about him, and not about him and Snape. It was like breathing hard after a long run; you couldn't help it. Your body did as it pleased. And so too with this, though for all that, Harry still felt awful.

It didn't get any better when, without warning, Snape shifted to the side and urged Harry to roll over onto his back, because almost at once, those kisses resumed, this time starting at his Adam's apple and working downward. Snape wasn't lying atop him now, was positioned to the side, but it _felt_ like the man was all over him, what with hands and lips and teeth exploring him everywhere from the waist up. Snape kissed him everywhere, that thoroughness kicking in again, and Harry couldn't help an odd feeling from stealing over him. It was like he was being marked. Being told he was _owned._

 _Because you are,_ that voice in his head said. _Or will be. Soon._

And then, in a loss of sensation so abrupt that he almost mourned it, Snape was pulling away completely and saying, "Sit up."

Harry did, a little unsteadily, his senses still caught up in a phantom of the whirling pleasure he'd had the moment before.

Snape regarded him through half-closed eyes, then left the bed and blew a candle out, his breath teasing the flame as it had so recently teased against Harry's ear. "Something to drink now, I think," he softly announced. "I promised you scotch when exams had ended. Do you still want that? Or would you prefer wine?"

Harry needed a long moment before he could surface enough to process all that. "Um, scotch," he said. "Definitely scotch. Are we going to... uh, you know, afterwards?"

Snape _accioed_ a bottle and poured him just a splash. "We are going to kiss. Is the word so daunting?"

"Guess so," Harry muttered, downing his scotch in one swallow. Merlin, the stuff was positively gruesome. It was all he could do not to sputter it out. He thought he held his opinion in fairly well, but when he saw Snape looking mirthful, he supposed not. Oh, well. He didn't want to drink more, but decided he'd better. "No offense, _Severus_ , but I need to get good and drunk for that, so lay it on."

"You'll be drunk on pleasure," Snape said in level tones.

"Oh, God," Harry moaned, starting to shift his legs off the bed. "That's it. I seriously can't do this. I think I'd rather bare my throat to V... to _him_ at his earliest possible convenience."

"Don't be an idiot. Kissing is the least of what we'll have to do together," Snape sharply rebuked him. "And I don't want you drunk on anything but pleasure. One hangover in my quarters was more than enough. The scotch was just for taste."

Harry blanched. "T... taste?"

Using the same glass, Snape poured a similar measure of scotch for himself, and tossed it back. "Taste," he confirmed. "Now, lay back down, and for Merlin's sake, don't panic any more than you have to. Didn't you enjoy it this morning?"

Like Harry was going to answer that! He flopped down onto his back again, and clenched his fists, and screwed up his face in anticipation, but all his tension, every last bit, was undone with one word.

" _Sensatus._ "

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, May 30, 1998 ---- 8:40 p.m. **

The stiffness left the young man's body the moment the spell was spoken. 

Severus lay back down beside him, his chest pressed against Harry's side, and bending over, lay his lips on the corner of his mouth and moved them teasingly. Just a hint, just the barest taste of a kiss, but Harry parted his own lips, and uttered a long, low _mmmmmmm_ that nearly undid all Severus' resolve. One hand on Harry's chest, pinching and stroking his nipples, he used the other to cup the young man's chin as he deepened the kiss. 

The mellow taste of scotch flooded his senses as Harry opened to him, his lips parting further, his tongue darting forward to tap against Severus' teeth. Another sound rumbled from him, this one coming from the bottom of his lungs as Harry groaned in pleasure and let Severus plunder his mouth.

Gasping, Severus moved both arms to wrap around his partner, dragging him into a close embrace as the kiss went on.

Then Harry stiffened, recoiled, turned away, his hands shoving at Severus.

"Ask for _Sensatus_ before you get to that point," Severus instructed, pulling him forcibly back and casting it again.

"That's like asking for you to kiss me ag--" The sentence was cut short as the spell took hold, Harry going pliant and willing, his tongue coming out to lightly lap at his own sensitized lower lip. Severus pushed him more firmly into the bed and half-lay atop him before taking his mouth again and lightly suckling at that lip. Harry moaned out loud, the sound less restrained than before, his whole body shifting to press up against the man kissing him. Severus cast _Sensatus_ three times more as they kissed, overlapping the spells so Harry never even began to surface from the pleasure, driving him further and further into it until the younger wizard was writhing, his hands twisting in the velvet, inarticulate cries gasping from his lips whenever Severus lifted his mouth.

Testing the waters, Severus drew back for the space of several seconds, watching Harry's face as it was flushed with passion, watching those green eyes slumberous with the force of the sensations flooding his body. He saw the young man's cheeks tighten slightly as the spell receded, but by then, Harry was so far gone that he couldn't remember he didn't really want this. " _Sensatus,_ " he gasped. "Severus..."

Severus cast it and kissed him again, losing track of time, the slow burn of the sole remaining candle its only indication, save for Harry's throaty moans asking for more of the spell. " _Sen--_ " he would beg, but Severus wouldn't even let him finish before wrapping the incantation around him once again.

He could have kissed him all night, Severus thought, but he hadn't realised quite how... stimulating this interlude would become. The longer it went on, the harder it became for Severus to contain himself within the limits he'd set for the evening. _Too soon,_ he thought with regret. _Too soon to pull the rest of his clothing from him, too soon to take him for my own..._

If he'd realised he'd be having quite this big a problem--Severus mentally smirked--he'd have taken steps to alleviate it in advance. But since he certainly wasn't going to cast a libido-dampening spell on himself in Harry's presence, all he could do was draw back to the edge of the bed, and watch Harry emerge from his daze. Unable to resist, Severus trailed a hand lightly along the young man's chest as he waited for the spell to break.

It happened far more suddenly than he would have thought. One moment, Harry was gasping, his body if not his words begging for another long, satisfying kiss, and in the next, he was bolting upright, his face flushing beet-red as he leapt from the bed as though it were on fire. A stumbling half-run took him as far as the door before Severus caught him by the arms.

Harry thrashed, actually kicking him as he tried to get away, but couldn't do much harm, not in sock feet. 

Severus shoved him back against the door and pinned him with his body. Leaning down, he rested his lips on Harry's ear, and harshly whispered for him to calm. The young man didn't, not until Severus enforced the order with another one of his little bites. Useful, those. They certainly got Harry's attention. He whimpered softly and yanked his head away, though Severus could tell that pain wasn't any real part of the reaction.

He eased up a bit, letting Harry stand freely, though he still held his hands captive at his sides, pressing them into the stout wood of the door. "Talk," he commanded.

Harry pressed his lips tightly together and shook his head. Severus was tempted to shake _him_. Instead, he verbally prodded, "You kissed me back. Quite... enthusiastically, I might add. Is that the difficulty? It was a good beginning, as I'm sure you must be aware."

Harry just glared.

"Or are you embarrassed because you're rather noticeably aroused?" Severus pressed, glancing down. Sweatpants with nothing underneath, after all, didn't do much to hide a man's state of excitement. It was a rather nice sight, and a good sign, to be sure, not that Harry would agree.

"Shut up," he spat, his face screwing up in a horrible expression that Severus could only interpret as an effort to bring his wayward flesh under control. Of course, it didn't work. Severus didn't need to glance down to know that much. When it didn't work for Harry, the young man actually uttered a strangled scream of frustration.

Severus had to repress an urge to laugh. Instead, he said in the kindest voice he could muster, "It's only to be expected. You've gone something like three weeks without release, haven't you? _Sensatus_ is enough to make you passionate regardless of the context." When Harry still didn't react except to grit his teeth and yank madly at his pinioned hands, some of Severus' patience evaporated. How the bloody hell was he going to get Harry to willingly make love to him if the young man reacted this badly to his own body's natural urges?

"Tell me what has you so upset," he flatly ordered.

"Fuck off," was Harry's response to that. And then he began to struggle wildly, clearly so distraught that he wasn't thinking. Severus had not a doubt that if Harry had his way, he'd rush to the Floo to get away, no matter that it meant he would tumble out half-dressed and panting into the headmaster's office.

If there was one thing Severus was determined on--one thing besides crossing their powers, whatever it took--it was that he wasn't going to stand here all night restraining Harry, who was by then practically frenzied. Neither was he going to allow him to leave when he was in such a state. And since the young man wouldn't talk, that left just one option. 

Letting go of one hand, and ignoring the way Harry immediately began to shove on him with it, Severus summoned his wand, thrust Harry firmly up against the door again, and waited for him to glare straight at him.

When he did, his green gaze feral with anger, Severus lifted his wand and hissed, " _Legilimens!_ "

He'd cast the spell before for training purposes, delving randomly into impressions and memories as he taught Harry to block him out. This time, he flung himself fully into the quest for just one memory, a recent one. The two of them together, on the bed, Harry coming slowly out of a fog of passion. He felt Harry pushing back against him, trying to force him away from private thoughts, but the young man was disoriented and unprepared for the assault. And too, his mind was far from clear. He was roiling with emotion: fury, lust, hatred.

When it came to Occlumency, emotions were a weakness.

Severus pushed harder, and burst through Harry's resistance, and saw the truth about what had happened between them, moments before.

He abruptly let the young man go, stepping back to give him room, though he pointed his wand and closed off the Floo completely, and for good measure, directed unbreakable locking charms on the door to the corridor.

Harry, though, was in no shape to flee, not after his mind had just been wrenched apart, his most private thoughts all but raped from him. He sank down to the floor, groaning, holding his head, looking like he wished he could melt into the stones and cease to be.

Severus summoned what he needed, and knelt down on the floor next to Harry, dragging his head up. "Drink," he ordered, thrusting a phial of frothy mauve potion at him.

"Like hell I'll drink," Harry grated. "I don't trust you for shit after what you just did to me."

"It'll make your mind stop feeling the aftercurrents of Legilimency," Severus evenly explained. "And as for what I just did, if you'd been willing to discuss the matter, I wouldn't have had to go to such extremes."

"I was in no fucking shape to discuss anything!" Harry shouted, then winced and put both hands to his temples.

"Drink. It will help," Severus gently instructed, holding the phial closer.

Harry threw him a look of utter disgust, but then he did take the phial and upend it into his mouth, wiping his mouth afterwards. Severus could tell he hadn't cared for the acrid taste.

"The bitter wormroot is necessary--"

"Yeah, yeah, to mute the toxins," Harry snarled, pushing to his feet. "I'm not an idiot, you know! The poisons are the ones that taste good, I _did_ learn a few things in your class!"

There was no question now but that Harry was back to behaving more like his usual self. That was a relief to Severus, even if he didn't care for the form it took. "Let's go discuss things in a less... intense setting," he suggested, waving out the last candle and the fire. Snatching up his shirt from the floor, he shrugged into it and strode off toward the settee in his front room.

It took Harry a few moments to follow; Severus presumed the young man was trying to compose himself. That impression was bolstered when Harry arrived with a freshly washed face and hair gone damp.

"May I get dressed as well?" he asked, looking pointedly at Severus sitting there all in black.

"Throw on one of the new shirts I bought you," Severus absently murmured. "Though you'll have to remember to change into what you came down in before you leave." He paused, thinking about that. "Would your friends notice if you went up in new clothes?"

"Yeah, they would," Harry admitted as he rummaged in paper carriers and found a simple blue T-shirt. "There's a big party down by the lake to celebrate the end of exams. I had to say the Ministry proctor had assigned me a detention for blowing up your classroom. If I come back obviously having gone shopping the Gryffindors'll have my head."

It wasn't lost on Severus that Harry was making an effort to change the topic away from anything personal. For the moment, that was fine, Severus thought.

"They don't want it in any case?"

"Not over the N.E.W.T., anyway," Harry muttered, quickly tucking the shirt into his sweats. He sat down as far from Severus as he could get.

"What else is there?"

"Just the fact that with this little schedule you cooked up, I only see my friends for meals and class. They're getting pretty tired of my excuses. Of course, Ron just figures--" Harry abruptly went silent.

"Yes?" Severus mildly prompted.

"Going to _Legilimize_ me again if I don't say it?" Harry sniped.

"If I think you're hiding something I need to know, certainly." When Harry glared, Severus just raised his brows as if to say, _What do you expect?_

"Oh, what does it matter?" Harry said, laying his head back on the top of the cushions. "Ron just figures I have a girlfriend I'm running off to see all the time. He can't decide if it's a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff." A strangled, half-hysterical laugh erupted from his mouth. "I think he's even wondering if it's a Slytherin, but he knows better than to ask me that out loud."

"Ah." Severus paused to consider his words before he went on. "But you don't have a girlfriend. At all."

Harry shook his head.

"Why didn't you mention as much?"

Harry lifted his head and stared. "Why would I? I mean, it's hardly relevant. If I'd _had_ one, maybe... but no, I don't think even that would be your concern. I'd've just had to break it off, what with the two of us going to invoke _Podentes_. But that would be my problem, not yours."

Severus shook his head. "You misunderstand my question. Why didn't you tell me you'd _never_ had a girlfriend?"

Stiffening, Harry returned, "Because I have."

"Not in the sense I mean." Severus held in a sigh as he wondered if Harry was being deliberately obtuse. "Why did you let me think that you and Miss Granger were lovers?"

"It's news to me you ever did think that," Harry replied, frowning. "Are you serious? I thought you were smart."

"You declared undying love for her right in front of me," Severus pointed out.

"Well, I had to do _something_ ," Harry retorted. "You'd just told the whole class that we'd been shagging! I didn't think you actually _believed_ it, Severus. I thought you'd said it for no better reason than to humiliate her. So I said I loved her _from afar_ to make it clear there wasn't anything interesting going on. It was better than a flat-out denial, which nobody would have believed."

The sigh Severus had been restraining found its way out. "We're shortly to become as intimately involved as two men can, Harry. Didn't you think it might be in order to let me know, from the outset, that you're _completely_ inexperienced?"

"I did," Harry insisted. "I told you I hadn't ever been with a man."

 _Yes, after I asked,_ Severus mentally added, though he knew that wasn't entirely fair. Harry had admitted from the first that he wasn't attracted to men, which more or less covered that matter. He hadn't, however, ever seen fit to mention the truth about himself.

"I mean," Severus grated, his patience wearing thin, "your ridiculous overblown reaction in the bedroom was because it was the first time you'd ever felt yourself aroused by the direct, deliberate action of another person! When I took on the unpleasant prospect of acquiring one Harry Potter, _slave,_ I didn't know I was signing on to initiate a bloody virgin! Why didn't you tell me you'd never even been with a girl?"

"So sorry if my virginity _offends_ you, Severus," Harry drawled, shaking his head. "I didn't _tell_ you about it because, quite frankly, it never crossed my mind you would believe me anything but! I haven't even dated anyone since fifth year, and even if I had, it's not like there's a lot of privacy to be had up in the student dorms!"

Severus paused to think. "When I told you to abstain, you asked for one last night."

"Yeah, and you refused me even that, so the fact that I'm still a virgin is your own damned fault," Harry groused, his mouth turning down. "I was going to take care of it. I didn't think having _you_ be my first was such a great idea. But you insisted."

"What was your plan, that night?" Severus pressed. "Miss Granger?"

"Would you give Hermione a rest?" Harry icily inquired. "She's dating Ron, has been for two whole years. It's beyond me how you can miss the way they snog all the time, while you somehow notice the one friendly hug she gives me, and blow it up into a the love affair of the century! Anyway, no, I wasn't going to go to one of my two best friends and ask if she could sleep with me when she's been saving herself for my other best friend! You're really sick, do you know that?"

"Miss Granger isn't yet intimate with Mr Weasley?" Severus inquired with surprise.

"Did you miss the part where I mentioned there's not a lot of privacy to be had around here?" Harry demanded. 

"In my experience, there are numerous ways for students to conduct... liaisons within the castle walls."

"Yeah, well maybe Slytherins are sluts," Harry rudely put in.

"And Gryffindors wait for the love of their lives?" Severus mocked. The look on Harry's face robbed the words of all humor. "Harry..."

He audibly grit his teeth. "So much for that idea."

"So then, that night, who were you going to approach?"

Harry glared daggers at him. "None of your business, and don't you dare pull your wand to find out. And anyway..." Before his eyes, the young man seemed to crumple. "I thought of her, but I probably couldn't have gone through with it even if you'd let me. She's sort of had this crush on me for years, and it would have gotten her hopes up... it wouldn't have been fair to her."

"A very Gryffindor sentiment," Severus accused. "You'd rather give your virginity to _me_ than risk hurting the young lady's feelings?"

"Seeing as I'm stuck sleeping with you anyway, it seems a bit cowardly to hurt her in addition," Harry murmured. "Well, about my _inexperience_... I thought you knew about it all along. I thought it was why you were... er, well, it hasn't escaped me that you've been... um, somewhat considerate, how you've approached this whole getting-intimate deal. But now that you _do_ know... what do you think, can we take things a bit slower?"

"We're still invoking on the seventeenth," Severus stridently announced, ignoring the note of hope that had momentarily crept into Harry's voice. "Let's talk about what happened in the bedroom, now."

Harry blinked. "Uh... I thought we were."

"No, that was just clearing away a few cobwebs. Tell me, Harry, what did you think it meant, the requirement that you be able to feel pleasure from me during the _Podentes_ ritual?"

The young man blanched, and stammered, "Er... well, I've gotten used to the backrubs, and they're actually all right. I mean, they feel good..." Severus saw him swallow. "Oh, God. That's not what it means at all, is it?"

" _Cambiare Podentes_ is woven through with Sex Magic," Severus explained. "Invoking it requires you to experience sexual pleasure."

"In front of the _witnesses?_ "

"They will be present for that part of the ritual, yes."

The young man at the other end of the settee went even whiter. Actually, he looked a bit as though he might pass out. "Um... I... er, oh God, I don't even know how to ask this..."

"I could always Legilimize you," Severus offered in a casual tone guaranteed to make Harry talk.

Sure enough, he instantly blurted, "Do I have to have an orgasm in front of the _witnesses?_ "

Severus shook his head as he leaned forward. "No. The witnessed phase of the invocation demands pleasure, not culmination. Something on the order of what we achieved tonight should be sufficient." 

"So I only have to be partially humiliated. Great." Harry turned his face away.

Placing a finger beneath the young man's chin, Severus waited until their eyes met once more. "Harry, the witnesses do not even need to know the exact nature of your pleasure. We will arrange a signal so that you can privately let me know you have reached a state of full arousal. The only real difficulty is that at the invocation, you must achieve that without _Sensatus_."

Harry gulped. "What if I can't?"

"You can," Severus said, letting go of his chin. "I will see to it. You see why, however, I wrote all those weeks ago that we need to prepare and practice?"

"Yeah," Harry uttered thickly. "Um, so have you decided on the witnesses, then? The headmaster, I assume? Who's the other one going to be?"

Severus raised a brow in surprise. "I thought you realised. We each must choose a witness. Mine will be Albus, yes. Yours can be anyone you wish. All the spell requires is someone you have trusted for a number of years. I would urge you, however, to select someone with discretion. The fact that you have entered a _Podentes_ enslavement cannot be completely hidden, but it is my hope that the Dark Lord will not immediately realise to whom you are enslaved."

Harry went still, his hands frozen in his lap. "You're going to keep spying, aren't you?"

"For as long as is practicable."

"I don't want you to."

"Just as well, then, that the matter is not your choice."

"We can't cross your powers into mine if you're _dead_ , Severus."

"Perhaps you didn't hear my previous comment," Severus calmly returned. "We are not going to discuss it. Now, onto other matters. I want you to stop using Dreamless Sleep for a few nights."

"All right," Harry sighed. 

Severus paused, then asked, "Have you done as I asked with regard to Miss Granger?"

"I haven't talked to her."

"Is that your idea of submission, to apply your obedience to the literal meaning of my words?" And then, when the young man glanced at him, "Yes, I know you've been writing to her. Incessantly."

"Well, you didn't say--"

"I shouldn't have to," Severus suddenly snarled. "You're so _concerned_ I may die a traitor to the Dark Lord before we cross our powers, are you? Why don't you concern yourself with what you should, namely your own proper role? Submission, Harry! It isn't going into a trance whenever I touch you, and it certainly isn't pretending not to know what I mean when I give you instruction! Do you want the invocation to fail?"

Well, at least he'd gotten Harry's attention. Frowning, the young man shook his head. 

"You're to apply yourself to _pleasing_ me, is that clear? That requires a bit more effort on your part than merely being some passive vessel that sleepwalks its way through the bare minimum of what might pass for obedience. Once you know me better, I shouldn't often have to command you, even. _On your own,_ you should do that which you know I wish!"

Harry shot to his feet. "Should I call you 'Master,' too?" he sniped.

"Considering I've no desire to become some species of Dark Lord to you, decidedly not," Severus answered. "It is good to see you less cowed, though. Don't fear to speak your mind to me."

"I just can't speak it to Hermione!"

"You can," Severus corrected. "Disregard what I said about that."

Harry stared, then accused, "So what was that then, just a test to see if I'd do it?"

"On the contrary. I thought the demand would force you to abandon the submissive persona you'd adopted, and so allow us to move you toward true submission."

"You wanted me to _disobey_ you?"

"I _wanted_ you to stop acting like a mindless lump of clay!"

"Well, then you should be delighted I snuck around writing notes to her!"

"No, because that strategy allowed you to continue playing dead while with me! What would delight me is your _true,_ willing submission, and nothing else."

Harry drew in a breath to steady himself. "I... I guess I don't really know what that is, then. It's not like I haven't been trying. I've been trying my best!"

"We'll find out what it is, together," Severus admitted. "Remember, Harry, the spell was made for wizards in love. You're supposed to want to please and obey me. Adopt that mindset and we should have far fewer problems to work through."

"Easier said than done."

"But it must be done, all the same." Standing then, Severus said, "Starting on Monday, we will begin to prepare in earnest for the invocation. You'll need to accept the fact that I can arouse you. You'll also start memorizing the incantation. But above all, you need to start practicing the kind of obedience we've discussed tonight. When you're here, don't wait to be commanded, Harry. Devote yourself to pleasing me."

"I don't know what pleases you," Harry objected.

"Oh, I think you must have some idea by now," Severus softly said. Pulling the young man to him, he spoke softly against his lips. "Right now, for instance. What do you imagine would please me?"

Harry closed his eyes and sighed, but then the young man kissed him. A chaste kiss, really, and one without much heat. But after what Severus had learned that night, he could understand that. At any rate, it was certainly a start.

"You'd better change clothes, and go back to the Tower," he said when Harry stepped back, his eyes so shadowed they looked more black than green. 

"My friends will still be out at the lake," Harry murmured.

"Go there if you wish," Severus said, realizing that Harry had construed his words about the Tower as a command.

Harry wordlessly went down the hall, emerging a few moments later wearing the clothes he'd worn to Norway. He stood and looked at Severus, his eyes still deeply shadowed. Finally, a soft "Good night" whispering from his lips, he left by Floo.


	22. Chapter 22

 

 

** Monday, June 1, 1998 ---- 7:05 p.m. **

"This is the incantation," Snape announced, handing him a sheet of parchment. "I've written it out phonetically. Your pronunciation need not be perfect, as long as it could be readily understood by any archaic Hindustani speaker."

"It's long," Harry murmured, glancing at the neatly inscribed text. "Nothing for it, though. Do you mind if I practice it with Hermione? She's good at memory tricks."

"I have told you that you may speak with Miss Granger, again."

"Yeah, but you wanted to keep everything secret until we actually invoked," Harry explained, deciding he wouldn't mention how Hermione had read not just the prophecy now, but also the entire précis.

"Do many in Gryffindor speak archaic Hindustani?" Snape didn't wait for an answer. "Ward the area as a precaution, but I don't see much cause for concern. Even if someone heard and understood you, they wouldn't know the incantation was part of the _Podentes_ ritual, not unless they'd studied it in depth. More likely, they'd just think you were wooing the girl with love poetry." 

Harry looked at the words more closely. "Love poetry? So what does all this mean?"

"Mostly, it's a plea to be pleasing and acceptable to the master wizard," Snape shrugged. "Though it doesn't use that term. According to _that_ ," Snape lightly tapped the parchment with his index finger, "I'm your lover."

Harry looked away, knowing that speaking the words during the invocation would make them come true... shortly afterwards. If not before... he didn't actually know how far Snape intended their physical relationship to go in the next three weeks. He wanted to ask, but figured that Snape would just refuse to tell him.

"All right, let's practice it," Harry sighed. Twenty minutes of that was enough, though. Harry felt like his head was swimming in Hindustani soup. "More tomorrow?" he asked.

Snape nodded, then just waited.

 _Oh God,_ Harry realised. _This is what he meant on Saturday night. He doesn't want me to be some marionette dancing to his tune. He wants me to suggest, initiate... do things for no other reason than that they'll please him..._

His mind went blank. Sure, when Snape had leaned close in that suggestive way, and practically breathed against his mouth to figure out what he wanted, it hadn't been too hard to come up with the idea of a kiss. Not that Harry really believed Snape _wanted_ a kiss. All he really wanted was a deepening faith that the _Podentes_ charm was going to work as expected; that he wasn't going to all this trouble and agreeing to have Harry underfoot forever, for nothing.

But now, looking across the full length of the settee at the man, he didn't have a clue how to play into that need Snape had to believe that Harry was really trying... he didn't even really know how to be submissive without falling into that mindlessness that bothered Snape so much. He couldn't just close the distance between them and kiss Snape again, not like this, when he hadn't had hours of _Sensatus_ , hours of lying in his arms, their tongues intertwined, to break the ice, so to speak.

"Um, would you like some wine?" he tried, not that he'd have a clue what to ask the house-elves if Snape said yes. Snape had told him the names of the wines they'd tried, but it was all a big French blur to Harry. He knew red, white, and rosé, and that was about it. If he ordered wine by those names, Snape would probably die laughing. Besides, would the house-elves even _bring_ alcohol on a student's say-so? Harry sort of doubted _that._

In the end, none of that mattered. Snape shook his head, his black hair swaying, and just kept waiting. Harry noticed the sleek fall of that hair, realizing that Snape must have washed it. Not that that was unusual. It looked as greasy and unkempt as ever during the day--though Harry only ever saw Snape at meals, now, not for class--but each night when Harry came, it tended to be clean and groomed. He hadn't really figured it all out. It couldn't just be potion fumes making the man look so awful when he was with students; after all, the students were exposed to those fumes, too, and none of them looked like they hadn't washed in a week. Maybe Snape coated his hair with some sort of protective goo to ward off potions disasters? Harry wasn't sure, but one thing was certain: shortly after Harry had begun coming to his quarters, Snape had begun to make sure that his hair, like his clothes, wasn't in his usual classroom style.

 _Maybe it's a way to help me overlook the fact that he's been my teacher all these years,_ Harry thought. _Or maybe he's heard us all say "greasy git" five thousand times, and he doesn't want me thinking those words while I'm down here with him. It's hard enough to contemplate touching or kissing Snape, let alone doing anything with him while he's greasy and unattractive._

Harry called that thought to a screeching halt, realizing the implication that _this_ way, Snape was slightly more attractive than before. _Not going there,_ he thought. _Not going there, at all. Ever._

Snape was still waiting. Harry had the feeling he'd wait all night; that until Harry managed to please him on his own initiative, the man wasn't going to issue a command.

Sighing deeply, Harry fell back on an old standby, and began to take off his clothes. Waistcoat first, then tie--he was going to miss Gryffindor colours--and finally his shirt. At that, he shivered. Snape noticed, and spelled the fire to give a bit more heat, though he still left the room fairly cool. Harry wondered what that was about. 

Even after Harry was bare from the waist up, Snape was still just _waiting_. Not by word, gesture, or expression could Harry determine that the man was remotely pleased. Maybe he wanted a kiss, after all? Well, how hard could that be? It wasn't like they hadn't kissed before. It took all Harry's nerve to move closer, to slide over until he was sitting thigh to thigh with the other man. Then, of course, he realised that being shorter, he'd have to pull Snape's mouth down to his. Too intimate, that. Too... needy, too demanding. He couldn't do it.

"Try it from my lap," Snape dryly suggested.

"From your lap?" Harry didn't think he'd understood. Surely the man wasn't suggesting Harry sit on his lap?

"Like this," Snape said, and pulled him crosswise to sit across his legs. A sleeved arm behind him kept him from leaning too far backwards; Snape's other arm settled snugly over Harry's waist. It took Harry a few moments to come to terms with the position, which seemed terribly uncomfortable, although not from a physical standpoint. It was more what it suggested... a sort of ease, a familiarity, that they definitely didn't have. 

Well, at least the difference in their heights wasn't quite as pronounced now, though Snape was still the taller. Harry had been leaning against that arm behind him, but now he sat up straighter, and moved his head toward Snape's. In the end, though, he couldn't do it. Maybe with _Sensatus,_ but not like this. He settled for laying his lips against the other man's neck, just below the ear, and smoothing them across a patch of skin. 

Snape's arms around him tightened. 

Taking that for a sign he'd pleased him, Harry opened his mouth as he continued the kiss. Snape's skin was cool, with a faint tang of cinnamon to the taste. Or maybe it was just a scent of cinnamon. Now that Harry was closer, he realised it clung to the man's hair. Without even realizing it, Harry reached his hands up to Snape's shoulders to hold him steady. Silky strands of hair flowed through his fingers, the feel of them... not unpleasant. That was as far as Harry's thoughts would let him go, though he knew that if he'd had _Sensatus_ , he'd be able to admit far more.

Harry pulled away, feeling himself flush, though it didn't last long. Snape leaned down and kissed him on the mouth, firm masculine lips coaxing his open, that sweep of hair brushing his cheek. The man did know how to kiss. _Sensatus_ or no, Harry couldn't miss the fact. And what would please Snape now, Harry asked himself. He was supposed to be a willing slave; he wasn't supposed to make Snape drag him kicking and screaming through every last intimacy. 

Harry opened his mouth and kissed Snape back.

After the first few seconds, it was almost like he'd _had_ the spell that made all of this so much easier. Pleasure wrapped itself around him, and that fact that it was Snape cradling him on his lap, that it was Snape lightly lapping at his tongue... all that lost significance. His head lolled back slightly, the other man's palm catching it then holding him steady to be kissed.

Kissed breathless.

Literally.

When Snape finally pulled back, Harry realised he was gasping in reaction. Gasps, though, weren't his only reaction. Much to his mortification, he realised he was aroused. It wasn't as pronounced as on Saturday night, and certainly his snug pants and trousers did more to hide his condition than the sweatpants had, but Harry had a feeling that Snape knew, all the same. The knowledge was there in the curl of the man's lips, in the dark glimmer of his eyes.

"You haven't been kissed much," he commented.

Harry tried to shift away, only to feel the grip of the man's hands tighten, keeping him on his lap. He could have struggled more, could probably even have gotten away if he really insisted, but his new awareness of this obligation to please Snape held him in place. If Snape wanted him there... he'd have to stay there. Willingly. Because the other attitude would interfere with the crossing of powers, and that was all that mattered.

"No," Harry slowly acknowledged. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise."

"I thought you didn't want the burden of initiating a virgin," Harry sniped, wishing he wasn't one.

"It will make things more difficult," Snape said. "On reflection, however, I find myself satisfied at the prospect. I don't like the idea of sharing you."

Harry reminded himself to breathe. "Uh... you sound..."

"I know." Snape lifted one hand and sifted it through his hair. "I think it must be the spell. We haven't invoked yet, but we've been thrown into this... way of relating that has consequences of its own. You feel it too, I think."

"Yeah," Harry thickly admitted. He could hardly deny it, after he'd just spent the past few minutes submitting himself to Snape's desires, trying his best to please him. He couldn't have done that a month ago, no matter what the prophecy said. But now, after all the _practice_ Snape had insisted on, the pattern of interaction between them was becoming familiar. Even... comfortable. It didn't bother him in the least to be sitting shirtless, not now. The unthinkable had become doable, and now, it was just... normal.

Dear God... what would he become _after_ the spell was officially invoked?

"Say the incantation," Snape murmured, listening to it until Harry faltered. He took over then, his deep voice reciting the foreign words as Harry tried to match him. "All right, that's an adequate beginning. Practice it at least five times each day. With or without Miss Granger; that's up to you."

"All right..." Without even realizing he was doing it, Harry tried again to shift off Snape's lap. Again, the arms tightened to remind him he should stay in place. "All right," he said once more. "So... um, what now? I know you said it was my job to figure out how to please you, but at this point I'm fresh out of ideas."

"I think we should spend some time talking," Snape murmured.

"Like this?" Harry gestured to their general position.

"Why not like this?"

Harry didn't answer. 

"With the invocation approaching," Snape resumed, "we will need to quickly become a great deal more intimate. It occurred to me on Saturday that it would be helpful for us to know one another better. Therefore, I would like to.... hmm, I suppose one might almost term what I have in mind a game, of sorts."

"Not Wizard Chess, I take it."

"A verbal game. I will ask you a question. It may be about anything at all; no topic is off-limits. If you answer, it must be with the complete truth, holding nothing back. However, if the question is too... daunting for you to bear, you may decline to answer."

"Doesn't sound like much of a game."

"Ah, but I haven't finished," Snape remarked. "For every question you answer, you may ask me one, subject to the same conditions. _But_ , whatever you ask must be on the same level of intimacy as what you have just revealed to me."

"What's the point of this game?"

"I'm surprised you have to ask me that, considering that two days ago I knew you so little I thought you'd already survived several love affairs."

"I get _that_ ," Harry stressed. "I mean, you can just ask me anything, anyway. Why dress it up in fancy clothes?"

"I think I'll learn more this way." Snape moved a hand up to rub Harry's bare shoulder. "What you _won't_ answer may be just as revealing as what you will, and from your own questions I'll know how much my own are disturbing you. And what is more, I'll know what you wish to learn about me. All right?"

Harry still thought it all sounded rather stupid, but he nodded. 

"Fine. I'll go first," Snape announced, and lapsed into thought. "You lived ten years in the Muggle world, and you have returned to it only during the summers. What do you miss most when you're away from it?"

"I can't believe you want to know _that,_ " Harry muttered. "Um... Coca-Cola, I guess. It's a soda."

"A soda ash? What does one do with it?"

"No, a _drink_. A fizzy, sweet drink. I don't think it has any ash in it. Just um.... carbonated water, and corn syrup, and caffeine... I don't know what else."

"It sounds revolting," Snape pronounced. 

Harry bit his lips to keep from laughing. "It's really, really good. Not that I got it often. Okay, my turn. Why did you become a Death Eater?"

Snape lifted an eyebrow. "You truly believe that _What do you miss_ is on a par with _What made you join the Dark Lord?_ "

"I guess not," Harry admitted.

"I do believe I failed to mention the penalty kiss. How remiss of me."

"The _what?_ " Snape didn't answer, so Harry admitted, "All right, I get it. Go ahead. I guess."

"Ah, but it was your penalty. Therefore, it's up to you to pay it."

 _Great._ The little game began to make a bit more sense, then. Harry stretched his neck and lightly pecked Snape on the lips.

"You call _that_ a kiss?"

Harry reached up again, this time putting a bit of tongue into the effort, then before Snape could complain again, asked, "Do I forfeit my question, too?"

"Ask your question." Snape waved a laconic hand, then settled his fingers atop Harry's bare stomach. 

"Uh..." The moment before, Harry had had one, but now, with those fingers lightly playing against his skin... "What's your favourite potion to brew?"

"Death's Head Elixir," Snape promptly replied, then snapped back with, "Do you consider yourself more a morning person or a night person?"

"Both, since I don't like to sleep." Snape's hand was moving upward, the fingers teasing his nipples. Personally, Harry considered _that_ cheating; it meant he couldn't think so well. He was hardly going to admit to that, though. Especially considering it might mean Snape would owe him a ludicrous penalty kiss. "Um, so are _you_ more a morning or a night person?"

"You aren't allowed to echo my own questions; you have to come up with your own. I want to know what it _is_ that you want to know, Harry. You owe me a kiss, now."

"You didn't even _mention_ that rule!" Harry objected.

"Don't tell me you thought Slytherins played fair," Snape mocked. "Do it. Obey me."

So, Harry did. A little bit of tongue again, not that it did him much good; Snape still wouldn't let him draw back when Harry wanted. The Potion Master's hand at the back of his neck ensured a long, deliberate kiss.

"Now, your question," Snape said when _he_ ended it.

Harry asked the first thing that crossed his mind. "Do you prefer mead or ale?"

Snape stared at him. "You really wish to know that?"

"Yes," Harry insisted, though he didn't. He just didn't want Snape to make up some new rule and announce another penalty.

"Mead. Why don't you like to sleep?"

"Why do you think? Nightmares. So... er... what's the deal with your hair, lately?"

"Excuse me?" Then Snape smiled, the glint in his eyes wicked, and said, "Ah, but it's against the rules to answer a question with a question."

"That's okay," Harry said quickly. "You don't owe me a penalty."

"We each owe the other one," Snape corrected, his hand at Harry's back impelling the young man toward his mouth. "We both answered questions with questions. And so... together, this time."

And they kissed, Snape keeping their mouths pressed together until he deemed the penalty paid. "Explain what you wanted to know about my hair," he whispered against Harry's lips as he drew back.

Harry could scarcely remember. "Um... oh, yeah... How come it looks so god-awful greasy during the days and then when I visit you it's..." Hmm, he wasn't going to say _all right._ He wasn't even going to say _better._ "Then when I visit you, it doesn't? Are you washing it every night before I show up?"

"Would you like me to?" Snape questioned, then gave a theatrical sigh. "Ah, well, I've done it again, it seems; I owe you a penalty."

"Stop it with the penalties!" Harry exclaimed, though of course it did him no good at all. Snape captured his mouth to deliver a blazing, blistering kiss that made Harry aware of every inch of his skin, _Sensatus_ or no. Shivers coursed through him.

"About my hair," Snape said when he drew back, his voice as calm as though he'd done nothing more interesting in the last few moments than deliver a Potions lecture. "On class days, I coat it with an oil-based ointment to prevent it from absorbing fumes. I put some on my skin as well, generally. I used to leave the ointment on for days at a time..." He gave Harry a significant glance. "I thought it might be a bit off-putting, so now I spell the coating away when I return here each evening."

Harry swallowed. The idea that Snape was trying to be less _off-putting_ was actually quite considerate. It was something Harry didn't want to think about, so he asked the next thing that crossed his mind. "Umm, if potions fumes are so... dangerous, shouldn't the students be protected, as well?"

"Cumulative exposure is the issue," Snape explained. "Students don't have the degree of it which I do. But that was _two_ questions in a row, Harry. You owe me a penalty."

"I do not!"

"Oh yes, you most certainly do," Snape murmured. "Be a good sport, Harry. Play the game."

"I thought games were supposed to be _fun!_ "

Snape just stared at him, a smirk in his eyes, until Harry gave in and touched their lips together. He almost expected the other man's palm to come around the back of his head again, and hold him in place, but this time, Snape let Harry control the kiss. The temptation to give no more than a token peck was definitely there, especially as this so-called game was beyond stupid and Harry _didn't_ owe a penalty for rules that had never even been explained to him. But what would resistance get him? At best, it would just encourage Snape to take charge of the kiss. At worst, it would occasion a lecture about the importance of submission if _Podentes_ was to work. A lecture Harry really didn't need, as he understood everything perfectly.

Understanding and complying were different animals, of course, but Harry did his best. Lips, tongue, a little bit of teeth nipping... his own hands the ones to come up and grip Snape's shoulders... it was with a peculiar sort of horror that Harry felt his own arousal surging, growing... _It's a physical reaction, like your skin burning in sunlight,_ he told himself. _Like Remus changing beneath a full moon. Doesn't mean anything; Remus is a really nice person. And so this... it doesn't mean I like men, doesn't mean I like him, Merlin forbid. Right, doesn't mean a thing, not one single solitary thing._

For all that, though, Harry yanked his mouth away, panting slightly.

Snape gave him a bland smile. A _knowing_ smile. Harry blushed, and wished, not for the first time, that Voldemort's curse hadn't bounced off his forehead all those years ago.

"My turn," the man murmured, his hands beginning to stroke Harry's chest and back as he spoke. "What is your Muggle family like?"

Harry stiffened. "I'm not answering that."

He felt, rather than saw, Snape's eyebrow lift. 

"Very well, although it merely means I get another question... Given your surprising... inexperience in matters of the flesh, it occurs to me to wonder... have you ever kissed anyone before?"

"Am I that bad at it?" Harry sniped, and then groaned out loud. He'd done it again. Sighing, that time he didn't wait to be told he had to pay a penalty, though he cut the kiss short the moment he felt the pressure in his trousers increasing. He wished he had _Sensatus_ to blame it on.

"You aren't _bad_ at it," Snape softly told him. "I just thought that after my assumptions earlier proved so erroneous, I should make more of an effort to discover the truth about you. Hence the game."

"Hence the game," Harry echoed, looking away. "Um, yes, I've kissed before." If they were going to start asking about intimate matters, he had a dilly of a question to ask, but it was too soon. Snape would call a penalty if he jumped straight to it, so he backtracked a bit and said, "Why aren't you worried about breathing _in_ those potion fumes?"

"There are spells for that, too. They just aren't as visible as the one for hair and skin. And again, the students don't need to worry; they're not in the lab twelve hours a day for weeks at a time, sometimes." Snape paused, then threw out, "Prior to our liaison, when did you last kiss someone?"

Harry debated answering that, but figured he'd have to own up to some embarrassing things if he wanted an answer to his own question. "Fifth year."

Snape appeared to mull that over.

"Besides black, what's your favourite colour?" Harry asked.

Snape stared at him. "You are supposed to ask things you actually want to know. I'm afraid you've incurred yet another--"

"Don't you say penalty!" Harry interrupted. "I do want to know that!"

The other man still looked doubtful, but he went ahead and answered, "Fine then. Grey."

"Figures."

"Or Slytherin green."

"What a complete shock."

Ignoring the snark, Snape pressed his own attack. "Why have you gone nearly two years without kissing anyone?"

Harry opened his mouth, then realised he didn't have any reason to give. "Um... I don't know."

"Think about it," Snape advised, his fingers tracing Harry's neck and shoulders, evoking physical memories of all those luscious backrubs. 

"I... " Harry sighed, and found himself pulled against Snape's warm shoulder. 

"Go on," the other man encouraged him. 

"Sirius died... and... I just haven't been interested in... anything," Harry managed. "After fifth year, I guess I realised that getting close to someone would just make them a target. I stopped trying to make any new friends. I didn't exactly push Ron and Hermione away, but when they got wrapped up in each other, I began to see a little less of them, and I didn't object, either. I... I don't know. Anyway, fifth year didn't go so well in that regard. It was sort of a disaster, and I haven't felt inclined to repeat it." Harry cleared his throat. "Well, that was pretty personal, so I'll ask you one that's been on my mind for a while."

He paused, unsure how to phrase it. Hmm. Probably, blunt would be best.

"So... why did you sleep with Voldemort?"

  
  
  
  


** Monday, June 1, 1998 ---- 8:02 p.m. **

"The Dark Lord," Severus corrected, although without much heat.

"And you slept with him because?"

"I fell madly in love," Severus dryly announced, only to see Harry's face instantly lose all colour. Oh, for Merlin's sake, the silly little twit had actually believed him! "I was a Death Eater, Harry. I did as I was told."

Harry went disturbingly still, even the nervous tapping of his feet ceasing. "Oh. I'm... oh God, I shouldn't have asked you that," he moaned, yanking his face away to hang it in his hands.

Severus sighed. "Don't be ridiculous. It was nothing as dramatic as all that." Harry looked up, the question in his startling green eyes, an ugly word hanging unspoken between them. Severus knew it would remain so unless _he_ said it. Some misguided sense of decency had Harry flinching away from it, though there was no need. "Not rape, Harry," he quietly assured the younger man.

"I don't understand."

Another long sigh. "It wasn't just sex, Harry. It was Sex Magic designed to grant me a miniscule amount of the Dark Lord's power. I was a spy already, working for Dumbledore, and _this_ power would grant my mind some measure of resistance to intrusions by the Dark Lord. His goal in granting me the power was of course to help me shield my thoughts from Albus, but believe me, I needed it to keep my head above water in the dangerous game I was playing. Looking back, I'm actually quite surprised I survived at all."

"So that's it? You did it for the power?"

" _And_ because those in the Dark Lord's service must indeed do as they are told. He doesn't dismiss those who displease him, Harry; he executes them. I didn't want to die, I didn't want the Order to lose its spy, and I _did_ want the power, yes."

Noticing that Harry was shifting on his lap, Severus nudged him off. "I think we've had enough questions for one night. Go have a shower and get ready for me."

"Ready for you," Harry echoed, wrapping his arms around his bare chest as though to ward him off.

"Yes," Severus answered, dark eyes insistent. "Wear what I lay out for you."

Harry stood up. "I'm really quite tired. All those questions..."

Severus stood too. "Putting matters off will only make them more difficult, and I'm afraid we're behind schedule as it is. I can arouse you, no doubt--" He broke off for a moment when the young man's face flushed scarlet. "But mere arousal will not be enough for us to complete the ceremonies which form an intimate part of the invocation."

Scarlet became a burning crimson as Harry dropped his gaze and restlessly shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets. "You said I didn't have to... er, you-know, not in front of the witnesses."

"Have an orgasm?" Severus dryly asked. "You don't. But the witnesses needn't be there for the entire ceremony. Of course, that's at my discretion. I had thought you wouldn't particularly want one of your little friends to see you in the throes of passion."

"Oh, God," Harry moaned.

"Exactly. Your pleasure _will_ come to completion with me on the seventeenth, or the invocation will fail. And so tonight, we practice."

Harry gulped, his pockets distending as his fingers clawing the insides. "I just need some time to adjust. I swear I'll be ready tomorrow--"

"You're ready now," Severus said, dark pleasure dancing in his eyes. He masked it when Harry looked up, but continued to explain, "You're _ripe_. All those weeks of self-denial, Harry..."

The young man groaned, really looking quite ill over the prospect before him. Hardly flattering, but in the circumstances, Severus could understand the reluctance. He wasn't Harry's ideal of a lover... but if they let details like that matter, they'd never be able to invoke. 

"Go shower as I said," Severus flatly ordered, relieved when Harry finally did.

  
  
  
  


** Monday, June 1, 1998 ---- 8:15 p.m. **

Harry took as long as he dared under water he spelled to be steaming hot. Of course the delay was utterly pointless and he knew it; Snape would _have_ what he demanded, and have it tonight, even if that meant keeping Harry in his quarters until nearly dawn. No doubt, Harry reflected, he'd be smarter to just go out there and get it over with, but then again, brains had never been his strong suit, had they?

Too bad Snape wasn't a bludger he could dodge.

Finally snatching his wand off the shower ledge where he'd set it, Harry spelled the water away. Then, leaning both palms on the black granite tiles that comprised the shower stall, he tried to stop his panicked breathing, tried to slow it to something approaching normal. Oh God, Snape couldn't really have meant what he'd said, could he? Harry was ready, ripe? Harry was going to have to _practice coming to completion?_

Trouble was, Snape had meant every word, and Harry knew it.

He shuddered, and almost started the shower running again. 

In the end though, his Gryffindor courage saved him from such pointless foolishness. _Catamite_ , he thought, the word chilling him even more than air coursing over his dripping body. _You're going to be his catamite. You're going to let him do all manner of unmentionable things with your body. In fact, your body's going to be his in every way. Literally, his property. This is just the start._

And if it took _this_ start to defeat Voldemort once and for all, then so be it.

Wrapping a black towel about his hips, his motions angry by then, Harry whispered the incantation to dissolve the wizardspace door. As promised, laid out for him on Snape's bed were the things he was to wear for this so-called pleasure session.

As before, sweatpants and socks. Nothing else. Harry wondered what point Snape was trying to make. Something about reminding him how he'd gotten so hard last time? He suddenly wondered if Snape had meant for him to _come to completion_ then. Was that what he'd meant by them being behind schedule?

Well, Harry decided, far be it from him to be the one to wreck the invocation. If he had to orgasm for Snape to complete the _Podentes_ spell, then it probably was a good idea to practice. Sighing, Harry got the clothes on, tossing the towel haphazardly back into the wizardspace, and for good measure, got onto Snape's bed and leaned against the headboard. Crossing one ankle over another, he tried for a casually relaxed pose.

It wasn't too much longer before Snape came in. Without a word, he lit the candles and whispered for the other lights to darken themselves. Then he turned to Harry.

This time, it didn't take Harry too long to figure out that it was up to him to make a move. Strange sort of submission, in his view. He'd rather just have Snape tell him what to do so he could _do_ it. That wasn't the sort of slave Snape apparently wanted, though. 

And what Snape wanted was all that mattered; Harry knew that. His own preferences were absolutely irrelevant; it was the very essence of _Cambiare Podentes_. He was to devote himself to serving Snape, in whatever manner _Snape_ preferred, full stop.

Swivelling his feet off the bed, Harry moved to the Potions Master and wordlessly began unbuttoning the man's shirt. This time, he didn't make the mistake of asking what to do with the garment. He simply let it fall to the stones. 

Before, when it had been left to him to try to please Snape, Harry had gone straight to kissing. He didn't want to do that now, though, but he knew he had to do something, so he lifted his hands to the man's shoulders and began to stroke them with his fingertips. Snape didn't seem to react in any way; he just stood there and let Harry learn the feel of him.

Shoulders and back. The pulse that beat at the base of the throat. Lean, strong chest, ribs tapering down to a trim waist. 

Harry didn't even realise that his eyes were closed as he explored the man soon to become his owner, but Snape's sardonic, "Look at me," brought the fact to his attention.

"Yes?" Harry wasn't too happy to hear how _breathless_ he sounded. 

Snape touched his wand to each of Harry's hands and incanted _Sensatus_ before saying, "Now, touch me again."

The sensations that time were exquisite. Harry leaned into the caress, touching Snape more boldly, breathing in the scent of him as his fingertips stroked skin, finding every scar and callus. There were quite a few of them, Harry thought, but they weren't off-putting as he would expect. They made the man _real_ , made him human, and that was somehow more exciting than touching some wax statue of perfection--

The spell faded, leaving Harry a bit startled to realise that _Sensatus_ could make him enjoy giving physical attentions as well as receiving them. Had he really thought it was exciting to touch Snape? Mortified, he knew he couldn't possibly do it again.

"Onto the bed now," Snape announced, perhaps sensing Harry's sudden discomfiture. That theory was bolstered by the fact that Snape thereafter took complete charge of their lovemaking that night. 

_And it was lovemaking,_ Harry was forced to realise later. Even if it wasn't precisely sex the way he understood it... meaning, he supposed, that it wasn't any sort of _intercourse,_ it was definitely lovemaking. And what was more, Snape knew what he was about.

The Potions Master covered his body with his own, chest touching chest, not a scrap of fabric between them to interfere with pure sensation. His hands on either side of Harry's face to hold him steady, he kissed him until Harry's mind swam with pleasure, until the entire world was reduced to just the two of them and Harry had no thought for anything else.

And he did all that without _Sensatus_.

Hours it seemed to last, kiss after endless kiss, Snape's tongue teasing his lips and teeth, Snape making him hunger for something more, something Harry was helpless to articulate. His body had no trouble speaking for him, however. Desire reared up, hot and hard and demanding, thrusting against the thin fabric of his sweatpants. Thrusting against Snape.

Wildly conflicting emotions roiled within him as his need for release grew urgent. He was embarrassed to be this way and have someone notice -- and Snape had definitely noticed. He was _ashamed_ it was Snape's wet, warm kisses that had brought him to this. He was mortified that he was the only one in the room aroused, but relieved, too. He didn't want Snape to want him, after all. That would just make his slavery ten times worse. 

He wanted to go... but he also wanted to come.

Of course, flight wasn't really an option. Snape was strong atop him and wanted him to climax. Harsh reality washing over him, Harry knew he wasn't going anywhere, wasn't moving one _inch_ away from Snape, not until the deed was done. In full.

He stopped thrusting and tried to sink his buttocks into the mattress.

Snape just pressed down on him, teasing his throbbing need until Harry longed to scream with the roiling, pounding sensation of utter _want_ that was sweeping him. Oh God, bringing _himself_ to climax had never been remotely like this. _That_ was quick and efficient, not this maelstrom of needing someone else, someone who had stopped moving, who was just laying atop him, _teasing_ him with the promise of fulfilment.

"Move again, damn it!" Harry finally grated, his control snapping. He knew he'd hate himself later for begging, but at the moment, he couldn't have stopped the words to save his life.

Instead of moving, Snape slid his wand beneath Harry's waistband, the tip of it lightly touching his groin. " _Sensatus_ ," he whispered, straight into the young man's ear.

Harry bucked, and screamed out loud, all thoughts of shame and embarrassment wiped clean by the flood of pure sensation that ricocheted through him. Convulsing against Snape, he wrapped his arms around his lean back and pulled the man more fully down on top of him, his lower body grinding against the man in a rhythm as old as time. 

This time, when Snape kissed him full on the mouth, Harry opened his wide. No need for coaxing, for a smooth seduction of his lips, not when his whole body was screaming with need...

" _Sensatus,_ " he heard again through a mist of passion, and the sensations strengthened once more.

Then he felt a hand skimming lightly along his rib cage, fingers tucking under his waistband, the callused pads of the fingertips moving slowly downward, exploring a hipbone and then moving to rest atop the hard centre of his need.

Harry bucked again, but not with passion. This time he was intent on getting away, on escaping the intrusive touch. "No!" shot from his mouth as he arched his back and twisted to the side in a violent, lurching motion that had him falling straight off the bed. He landed on hands and knees on the dungeon floor and hurriedly arranged his clothing so that the elastic waistband of his sweatpants wasn't riding quite so low on his hips.

At least he didn't have to worry about his body embarrassing him just then. What had happened had killed all desire, every last bit, which meant that his lower regions were behaving for once. Better that than tenting out the sweats in that horribly obscene way he found so utterly humiliating... all the more so since Snape was quite obviously unaffected by these little pleasure sessions. Although... well, the Potions Master tended to breathe a bit heavily when their kisses acquired a certain level of ... _heat ..._ but that wasn't passion on his part. Couldn't be, since he didn't want Harry in the slightest and was only enduring this for the spell. More likely it was repressed anger than he had to put up with an ugly little runt in his bed.

A bed that had hosted Voldemort... well, metaphorically at least. Harry rather doubted the Dark so-called Lord had actually done it with Snape _here_. Still, the image helped him remember what was really going on here. Snape would sleep with literally _anyone_ for power. Even Harry. Even when the power gain was going to be Harry's, this time. The principal was the same. Sex wasn't desire, not to Severus Snape. It was a thirsting after something else.

"Are you planning to crawl on the floor for the rest of the evening," Snape sneered, "or will you get back on the bed so we can get past this little difficulty?"

Harry wondered if that word _little_ referred to him being inadequate in the size department. Then he wondered if it was a crack about that particular part being limp and small at the current moment. "Crawling sounds good, actually," he retorted, his voice rough, even as he took his palms off the cold stones of the floor and moved into a kneeling position. 

"If you like to crawl, Harry," he heard the Potions Master scathe, "I can certainly accommodate you. When I said you needed to develop a submissive streak I never dreamed you'd take me quite so literally--"

"Shut _up!_ " Harry shouted, disgusted by the implication. He hadn't meant _crawl_ like that, and Snape knew it. The thought close on the heels of that one chilled him: maybe Snape _had_ meant _crawl_ that way....

"Get back on the bed, _now,_ " Snape commanded, apparently tiring of the debate.

Harry obeyed. Reluctantly, resentfully, but he did obey.

"It seems there is a limit to what _Sensatus_ can accomplish," Snape levelly remarked, reaching out both hands to yank Harry more fully onto the bed. Leaning back against the headboard much as Harry had done earlier, he placed an open palm on the area next to him as he stared at Harry in clear challenge.

It was a command Harry recognised by then. His lips pursed, Harry did as he'd been told and moved to half-lay alongside Snape. He wasn't prepared to feel the other man's arm come around him, nudging him onto his side, then nudging him closer. Harry ended up laying on his hip, the length of his body pressed against Snape's, his cheek resting on the man's shoulder. Not that the position was remotely restful. Snape's whole body was thrumming with tension.

Anger, probably, Harry glumly figured. He shouldn't have bolted like that. If Snape wanted to touch him _there_ , Harry was supposed to let him.

_The essence of submission..._

Almost as if reading his thoughts, Snape announced, "As the spell failed, I must surmise that you genuinely did not wish me to touch you, not there."

Harry stiffened from head to toe. Well, except for _one_ part that stayed properly flaccid. "I don't _wish_ you to touch me _any_ where, you conceited prick!"

"Language," Snape rebuked, his tone rather mild considering what Harry had just said. Harry soon found out why. _Conceited_ was apparently right, for without any hesitation whatever, Snape was explaining, " _Sensatus_ tells the story differently, Harry. The spell could not have worked at all unless you had some innate level of acceptance of what we've been doing evening after evening."

"That's a bit fat lie!" Harry shouted. "I _don't_ want this, and I don't want you, all right? If it wouldn't coat the whole goddamned world in ten thousand years of absolute _shite_ , I'd slit my own wrists before I'd let you lay a finger on me _anywhere!_ "

That said, he tried to pull away from Snape, but the other man's arm tightened until Harry was sure he'd get bruised from the sheer force of fingers clamped to his shoulder.

"Relax," Snape dryly advised. "We still have to get through this."

"If _Sensatus_ fails then I don't see how we can," Harry lashed out. He could still feel the phantom imprint of Snape's fingers touching his erection, a sensation which was creepy at best. "Or is it going to be _rape_ after all, when it comes right down to it? Because I _don't_ want you and I never will! I thought I could do this, but I _can't--_ "

That last word was delivered in a high-pitched, almost hysterical keening.

"You _will_ want me," Snape insisted. "The progress we've made thus far tells me we'll be able to successfully invoke _Podentes_. You've shown a great affinity for my touch, greater even than I think you realise--" He held up a hand when Harry would have interrupted. "You don't have to believe me for it to be true, you realise."

"It's not true," Harry muttered resentfully.

"Deny it inside yourself if you wish," Snape sternly advised, "but do _not_ express such sentiments again. They are counter-productive in the extreme. Now, as I developed the spell in question, I do know whereof I speak. The only thing that should be able to disrupt _Sensatus_ is a total and complete rejection on your part of the type of touching I was embarking upon--"

"See, it'll never work!" Harry cried.

Snape sighed, then leaned over Harry to bite the top of his ear.

"Ow! Stop _doing_ that!" Harry shouted.

"I'll _do_ whatever I wish to you, you little twit!" Snape shouted right back. "You're _mine_ , and if you don't obey me, I'll make you! A little nip is nothing to what I might take it into my head to do, so don't provoke me!"

"I'm not yours _yet_ ," Harry rallied.

All he got for that was another bite. A harder one. He almost retaliated, but realised in time that more violence would hardly help the situation.

"Now, as I was saying," Snape snarked, "you definitely didn't want to be touched there. I rather think it has to do with your vast inexperience in matters of the flesh. You have been kissed before, albeit inexpertly if your responses to me are any indication--"

 _Gee, thanks,_ Harry thought at that. Then he realised he was being stupid. He didn't _want_ Snape to think him a good kisser, did he?

"However," Snape was continuing, "you have no doubt _never_ been brought to orgasm except by your own efforts. I was moving too fast for you. That said, I feel it is imperative that you become accustomed to climaxing in my presence--"

Embarrassed beyond belief, Harry ground out, "So, what do you propose, _Severus?_ I should go whack off in the corner while you read a potions journal?"

"Sometimes you really are a child," Snape said in a heavy tone. "Do you even realise I'm being patient and understanding?"

"You call gnawing off the top of my ear _patient and understanding?_ "

"I call _that_ quelling your idiotic impulses to destroy any chance we may have at invoking!" Snape retorted. "And as for patience, would you prefer me to just take hold of you and _make_ you climax whether you're comfortable with that or not? Don't think I couldn't accomplish it. I'm stronger than you are, and I don't fight fair, and I _do_ know how to pleasure a man!"

Harry blanched, sensing that one more rude word could well push Snape over some sort of edge. "No, I don't want that," he quietly admitted, slumping, the righteous anger of the moment before seeming to just drain out of him. "I just don't see how we can... uh, get me used to... uh, doing what you said."

"You were doing quite well until I pushed too hard," Snape replied, his voice calm but threaded through with a tremor. Harry figured it was probably disgust. His behaviour earlier... thrusting, begging... it hadn't been terribly seemly, especially considering Snape really wanted no part of a sexual relationship with Harry Potter. 

"So, more of uh... what we were doing just prior?" Harry asked, feeling absolutely defeated. It was bad enough to contemplate blatantly rubbing himself off. Always before, when he'd felt like indulging, he'd had a warm private bed surrounded by silencing charms. _And_ he'd made damned sure there was nobody else even in the room with him. What made _this_ so much worse wasn't just that it was Snape here with him, it was that the whole thing from start to finish was going to actually sicken Snape. Not that Harry much cared if Snape found his adolescent neediness revolting, but afterwards Harry would have to put up with the scorn sure to fill those dark eyes.

"You don't sound as though you're still inclined," Snape quietly observed. Harry wanted to say _Gee, you think?_ but managed to resist. "Wait here," the Potions Master instructed as he climbed off the bed.

Like Harry was going anywhere! He wasn't _that_ stupid. He knew he was stuck.

Snape came back in a moment with a tumbler filled with ice and a reddish-amber liquid. Harry stared at it distrustfully. As much as he welcomed the peculiar sort of oblivion the drink represented, he didn't like the idea that when they ran into difficulties, Snape immediately thought of liquor. Of course, maybe in the normal course of things, Snape would usually think of a potion to cure him of his reluctance. That he was resorting to a Muggle "cure," more or less, probably meant that he was concerned about outside magic somehow interfering with _Podentes_. 

"You do realise you ply me with drink quite a bit, don't you?" Harry asked as he sat up and took hold of the squat, round glass. 

"Since you've only been drunk here once, and that incident was unintentional, I hardly think you're indulging to excess," Snape dryly returned. "Last time, in fact, I believe I allowed you just a taste. This time, I think you'd better drink it all."

Harry made a face, though he was hardly going to argue the point. "Bottoms up," he sarcastically said as he lifted the drink to his lips.

"Oh, I hardly think you're ready for _that_ quite yet," Snape drolled.

Harry didn't think the matter was quite so funny, or funny at all, but neither did he think that glaring was going to do him any good. With a sigh of dismay, he began drinking the liquor. Hmm, not scotch, although he'd known that from the colour...

"Bourbon," Snape supplied at his inquiring glance.

It was really good, but Harry didn't want to say so. Snape giving him liquor was a bit too much like a seduction as it was. It might not be so bad if they weren't both sitting there bare-chested, he supposed. The moment he thought that, it suddenly became almost impossible not to look at Snape. Why that should be, Harry had no idea. He'd seen the man before, right? No big deal. Except, it somehow was. He felt his gaze drawn back to the lean, muscled torso on display. How could Snape look so very _strong?_ The man didn't do anything but hover over a cauldron all day...

Then again, you probably had to be very fit to survive the life Snape had lived.

Harry had finished his bourbon and was debating asking for another when Snape _accioed_ some of his marvellous salve. _So that was the plan... another backrub?_

It did the trick, though. Those hands on him worked their usual brand of magic, reducing Harry to a puddle of mush despite his misgivings about where this was all leading. Snape didn't stop at his back, though. Moving down, he slid his hands over Harry's calves, diving beneath fabric to touch skin, and massaged the hard muscles there. Then up further, above his knees... then _down_ his pants as he'd done before to palpate and caress the strong curve of Harry's toned backside.

Harry might have objected to that last if he hadn't had _Sensatus_ cast across him. 

Once Harry was relaxed and pliant, Snape started in again with the kisses, flipping Harry to his back and laying atop him. He nibbled at the young man's throat until Harry arched it and offered him the full expanse of his neck. Then, in one smooth motion, he caught both Harry's hands in his and held them captive as he deepened the kiss.

Harry struggled instinctively, but only until those familiar kisses against his neck and shoulder made him lose track of the fact that his wrists were being held pinioned over his head. Sensation washed over him, sensation he'd long since accepted as part and parcel of what his life was now, and what it would become. He arched into it, not even realizing that his wrists had been released. 

_Sensatus_ again, Snape's hands all over him as the kisses continued.

And then the Potions Master was thrusting him onto his back and rolling atop him, lying slightly off centre so that one of his lean, trouser-clad legs could thrust up against Harry in _just_ the spot any normal eighteen-year-old male would find maddening. Of course Harry didn't want _Snape_ rubbing him there. _Certainly not._ In the rush of sensation, though, it ceased to matter that it was Snape doing this to him. By that point, Harry couldn't actually tell if he'd had _Sensatus_ cast across him again, or not. Everything was reduced to a blur of motion, to a bare, damp chest pressed against his in the candlelit room, to a need so potent that this time, he wasn't even embarrassed to be hard as granite, hard and aching with it, little moans slipping from between his clenched teeth. 

Then Snape did something... moved in a slightly different way, so that Harry's need connected with the contour of the man's hip. At the same moment, the Slytherin's mouth descended to capture his in a kiss so hot Harry thought he would melt. And then the thrusting began. That hip against him, undulating in a steady rhythm, evoking something primitive, something primal, in Harry. 

Sweet Merlin, it had never felt like this when he'd huddled in his solitary bed and pleasured himself with his hand. This should be _less_ intense, surely... he wasn't naked, and he wasn't held firmly in hand... but somehow, _this_ rhythm evoked more pleasure than he'd ever had from his own needy grip. 

_...and I do know how to pleasure a man..._

Harry thought he might faint just remembering that threat... or had it been promise? Either way, it was coming true. He opened his mouth wider, welcoming Snape, gasping into his mouth and then almost screaming as the first true spasm hit. 

_Ripe was right,_ Harry thought, although not in words. He was incapable of coherent thought at the time. It was more a bone-deep knowledge, wrapped around his every sinew, that recognised the claim for fact as a climax such as he had never had wracked him from scalp to toe. He could feel the pleasure coalescing throughout his whole body, then pumping forth from the one place a man most associates with bodily delight. Spasm after spasm, until they were practically convulsions, and all the while, Snape kept up that steady rhythm of thrusting hip, driving him further and further and _further_ into what seemed an endless spiral of pleasure. 

And never once, not for one instant, did the man stop kissing him, not until Harry's own thrusting movements had ceased, until his whole body collapsed against the bed, his limbs boneless.

He felt a bit like a puddle someone had spilled, like he was just spreading into the coverlet, _oozing_ with utter relaxation, utter lassitude.

Snape stopped kissing him then, and stopped that undulating hip motion that had driven Harry over the edge, but apart from that, the Potions Master didn't withdraw from him.

Chest to chest they lay, both panting, though Harry's breathing was definitely the more ragged of the two. His eyes had closed as he'd ridden the wave of passion to its crest, and now, as much as he would have liked to hide, his inherent Gryffindor courage wouldn't let him. Long eyelashes fluttering open, he looked up into black eyes that were far too close for comfort.

Black eyes that somehow reflected satisfaction, Harry thought, though the emotion was largely masked behind a cool indifference that struck a discordant, jarring note after the passion they'd shared the moment before. But of course they hadn't _shared_ it at all, had they? Snape had merely done what was needed to bring Harry off, and not from any inclination to share a pleasant interlude. This was all for the spell. As far as Harry could tell--and for the past few minutes he'd been in a damned good position for just that--Snape wasn't aroused in the slightest. 

A man couldn't hide such things.

Harry told himself all that was just as well. He didn't want to be wanted, not by Snape. It was bad enough that they had to _do it_ , full stop.

So now what confronted Harry was the age-old problem of what to say afterwards. _Thanks_ seemed a bit ridiculous considering how contrived the whole situation really was. Snape had forced himself to touch Harry, and had forced Harry to endure the touch. 

For all that though, it had been without a doubt the most intense, satisfying, mind-blowing orgasm he'd ever had.

It was Snape who broke the silence. "You can go back up to the Tower now, though I recommend you shower before you change into the clothes you wore down. Come back here tomorrow as usual."

 _Same bat time, same bat channel,_ Harry thought, lines from a particularly stupid American re-run bouncing around in his head. He couldn't have said what made them come to mind, unless it was the fact that he'd heard so many theories about Snape being a vampire. Or maybe he was just half-hysterical by then, for the truth was rushing back in on him, the truth he couldn't escape, though Snape, surprisingly enough, had been good enough not to mention it:

_Harry Potter had come gasping in Severus Snape's bed, in Severus Snape's arms..._

He shot like a bolt of lightning off that bed and into the bathroom, almost colliding with a wall in his haste. So much for Seeker's reflexes... Even worse, he realised he didn't know where his wand was, couldn't even remember where he'd last used it. What sort of wizard lost track of his wand?

It turned out to be lying neatly on the bathroom counter. 

Harry grimaced as he shimmied out of his sweatpants and saw the rather messy blotch he'd created inside. Looking at it felt like guilt, accusation, and sentence all rolled up into one. Dear God, he'd come kissing _Snape._

 _And you're going to have to do it again,_ his Gryffindor honesty reminded him. _You're going to have to do it whenever he says to. And someday soon, he'll say to do more than that..._

Shuddering, Harry turned the water on full blast and stepped beneath the cold spray. He could have spelled it warm, but he didn't want to. The scene in the bedroom was supposed to have been awful, but he'd enjoyed it.

He'd be damned if he'd enjoy his shower as well.


	23. Chapter 23

 

 

** Thursday, June 4, 1998 ---- 7:02 p.m. **

"So, Harry, how are you and Severus getting along these days?"

Harry almost dropped his teacup. It was a good thing he didn't, as that would almost certainly have caused the little china cup to nip him on the ankle. His hands shaking, he stroked the edge of the saucer as a wave of heat suffused his face. "Um, all right," he managed to say, swallowing several gulps of hot tea as he willed himself to calm down.

Dumbledore, it seemed, had no subtlety at all. Either that, or he had no mercy, not when it came to things like finding out if Voldemort was likely to be defeated by the pair preparing to invoke _Podentes._

"He is treating you well, then?" the headmaster pressed.

Harry wasn't so sure if _well_ was quite the way he'd have phrased it. Three nights in a row, Snape had seduced him with liquor and spells and those damned _kisses_ , until Harry couldn't think straight and had come shuddering in his arms. Three nights in a row, Snape had afterwards merely told him to shower... and hadn't even been around when Harry had come out to get dressed. 

He kept expecting Snape to laugh at him, to ridicule his stunning lack of control. Of course, Harry was well-aware that eighteen-year-olds weren't renowned for their staying power, but then again, not too many first-years were well acquainted with ingredients for the Draught of Living Death. And _that_ hadn't stopped the Potions Master from berating him in front of all his peers, had it? It would only be in character for Snape to make fun of the fact that he could reduce Harry Potter to a heap of quivering goo.

But he hadn't.

Not once.

"Yeah, he's fine," Harry said as he stared into his empty teacup. He knew an insane desire to read the tea leaves, even though he didn't believe a thing he'd learned in Divination class. Maybe he was just hoping to find something to counter Trelawney's latest prophecy. "Um, he said last night to meet him here, but he didn't mention what for. Is there something I should know?"

Albus Dumbledore favoured Harry with a grandfatherly smile. Bit ironic, that, Harry couldn't help but think. Here the man was giving him into sexual slavery, requiring him to become a catamite to a man over twice his age, and he looked _grandfatherly_ about it? On the other hand, Harry reflected, that was probably being unfair. The whole deal with _Podentes_ was that he had to agree, had to give himself into slavery.

"There are a few logistical details left to be worked out," the headmaster was explaining. "Ah, here is Severus now."

A flash of fire subsided as Snape stepped out of the Floo and regally brushed his robe-clad shoulders free of ash. Harry glanced at his own cloak, belatedly realizing that he was finely dusted in cinders. He lost track of that thought, however, the moment the other man took the seat beside him. 

Harry blushed a deep, dark red. How could he not, when for the past three nights he'd lain panting in this man's embrace, his body in a state of absolute surrender? 

Snape stared at him impassively for a moment before giving his full attention to the headmaster.

Evidently understanding what Harry's red face must signify, Dumbledore cleared his throat rather ostentatiously, a little colour coming up into his own skin. "Tea, Severus?" he inquired, the offer considerably less effusive than usual.

"Yes, thank you, Headmaster," Snape replied. "Earl Black, if you please."

Dumbledore tapped his wand to his desk, which caused a tray with a teapot and one steaming cup to appear. Leaning forward, Snape took the cup in hand. Then, elegantly crossing one long leg over the other, he balanced the saucer on his knee, leaned back, and regarded the headmaster expectantly. 

Harry couldn't help but notice that Snape's porcelain cup frowned in dismay when it didn't get any little rubs or caresses, just the occasional sip. 

"Well, Harry," began Dumbledore. "In a little less than a week, you'll become a fully-fledged wizard. I believe Severus has mentioned that a week after that would be a good time to invoke the _Podentes_ spell? Is that schedule acceptable to you?"

Of course it wasn't _acceptable._ He'd never dreamed that after seven solid years of studying wizardry, he'd get only one week to be an adult wizard out on his own. Because after that week, according to law and tradition both, he wouldn't even be a _person_. And as for being a _wizard..._ well, he'd still be that, but knowing that Snape could deprive him of his magic, if he chose, was rather disheartening. Then again, there was always the possibility that the spell wouldn't work quite as anticipated. That was always at the back of Harry's mind... that _Podentes_ was intended for wizards in love, and since he and Snape were _never_ going to be that... well, maybe the spell wasn't going to behave anything like anticipated.

They'd probably still be able to cross powers, since that part had been prophesied, but as to the rest--

"Harry?" Dumbledore was prompting.

Realizing that he'd drifted off, Harry hurriedly said, "Oh yeah, right. The seventeenth for the invocation. Yeah, that'll be all right."

Snape made some vague sort of derogatory noise in the back of his throat, but forbore from pointing out how much of an idiot he thought Harry. He didn't need to point it out, though, did he? If Harry had learned anything in all his years of Potions, it was that Snape thought he was stupider than moss. 

"Excellent," Dumbledore said, beaming at them both. "Now, onto more pressing matters. Have you given any thought as to whom you would like to be your witness, Harry?"

"Yeah, I have," Harry answered. He'd thought about it long and hard, actually. And while he wasn't terribly happy with the conclusion he'd come to, he'd decided it really was the best option available.

"Precisely which odious presence are you going to inflict on me?" Snape asked in a long-suffering tone. "Granger, Weasley, or Merlin forbid, a partial squib like _Neville Longbottom?_ "

The question was so rude that Harry took a peculiar satisfaction in drawling, "Weasley."

Snape curled a disdainful lip, rolling his eyes at that information.

Even Dumbledore appeared taken aback. "Are you quite sure that's wise, Harry?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry blithely agreed.

"Ah... but Mr Weasley is a bit... ah, volatile, you understand. I fear he'll disrupt the proceedings, which could have some extremely serious repercussions...."

Harry supposed he could have strung the game out quite a bit further, but truth to tell, he was getting tired of it. 

"Arthur Weasley," he clarified, eyebrows raised.

"Hmm," murmured the headmaster, peering at him in some surprise. "Well, that should be satisfactory."

Snape turned to regard Harry, a curious light in his eyes. "I'd be interested to know your reasoning."

Harry was only too glad to give it, after both Snape _and_ the headmaster had actually believed him dim enough to choose Ron for this particular task. "First, I hold him in high regard and know I can trust him to keep what he sees to himself. Second, he's an Order member, which seems appropriate since I certainly don't think a non-member ought to know our latest strategy for defeating..." Harry set his teeth, wanting badly to say _Voldemort_ but aware that he'd better not. "The Dark Lord. And most important, Mr Weasley's at the Ministry every day. Well, every work day, at least. He can personally file the paperwork explaining my... uh, new status, so that some low-level clerk doesn't get a look at it. And after that, he can even keep an eye on things for us. With any luck, he might be able to alert us in advance if anybody tries to look at the file. That way, we'd have some warning if the secret got out."

"Very well reasoned, Harry," Albus commented as he stroked his fingers through his beard. "I must admit, I'm quite impressed. I had assumed you'd want a close friend at the invocation. For moral support."

Harry shook his head. "I hardly want a friend to see... that. I'd rather Mr Weasley didn't, either. He's bound to find the whole thing rather upsetting. But... I couldn't think of anyone more advantageous to our goals."

" _Very_ well reasoned indeed," the headmaster said again. "Don't you think so as well, Severus?"

Snape's gaze remained fixed forward, though he did say, "Harry appears to understand the gravity of the situation, yes."

 _Oh, high praise,_ Harry felt like sneering.

"So, have you owled Weasley?" Snape inquired, shifting in his chair to look at Harry. 

"I thought better than to put a matter like this to paper."

"Oh, good thinking again, Harry," Dumbledore lauded him. 

Snape ignored that. "I wasn't suggesting you do such a thing," he coolly informed Harry. "I do, however, believe you'd better owl to request a conference with Arthur Weasley. As soon as is practicable, I should think. He has to know in advance just what sort of ceremony you'd like him to witness."

"I thought I might see him on Saturday," Harry murmured, mentally crossing his fingers.

Snape's frown reached his eyes. "Saturday is _mine,_ as you well know, and we have much to do. You may speak with Weasley on Sunday."

"The one day that's just for me, and you want to let _Podentes_ take it over, too," Harry glumly bit out. 

Snape smirked. "Call it yet more practice. Very soon, all your days --nights as well-- will be reserved exclusively for me. You might as well get used to it."

Harry folded his hands in his lap, only his clenching fingers betraying how much that comment, and the prospect it represented, bothered him. "Should I invite Mr Weasley here, do you think, Professor Dumbledore?" he asked, trying for a calm tone. "Or should I ask if I might see him at the Burrow?"

"Where would you be most comfortable discussing the matter?"

"Um... the Burrow, I think."

"Do you?" Snape snidely put in. "Think, that is? _Molly_ Weasley will be at the Burrow. Arthur may have enough sense and strength of character to understand why neither you nor I have much of a choice about invoking _Podentes_ , but his overemotional wife will no doubt decide you must be rescued from this fate worse than death. Need I remind you that if you let yourself be rescued, you'll end up dead on July 31st?"

"No, you need not remind me, Severus," Harry sniped back. 

"Don't take that tone with me!"

"Yes, _master,_ " Harry snarled, repressing an impulse to accompany the word with a rude gesture. "So just where do you suggest I speak with Mr Weasley, then? On my bed with the curtains closed? In the common room? Perhaps in the Great Hall during lunch rush!"

"In my well-warded quarters," Snape solved that problem.

"With you right there? Listen, if you want me to convince him I'm _choosing_ this, we're better off without you hovering over us."

"I'll be in my private Potions laboratory preparing some things we'll need for the invocation."

Harry supposed he meant the potions they would both have to drink. "Mr. Weasley is still going to think it's a bit odd having Harry Potter invite him for a chat down in the Slytherin dungeons, don't you think?"

Snape gave him one of those Merlin-save-me-from-brainless-idiot stares. "The only other place sufficiently warded for sound, in my estimation, is the room we're sitting in at the present moment."

"Fine, I'll meet with him here," Harry agreed, nodding.

"No, you will not! _This_ room suggests you've been persuaded to comply by no less than the headmaster, a circumstance which will not allay Weasley's fears for you!"

Harry thought of pointing out that he _had_ been persuaded to comply by the headmaster, thank you very much... but he knew that wasn't really true at all. He couldn't even say that of Snape. The other two wizards had left him strictly alone to ponder that prophecy. He'd agreed of his own free will, which was what _Cambiare Podentes_ was about, after all.

As if Snape had read his mind, the Potions Master continued, "Far better for Weasley to meet you down in my quarters and see for himself that you feel at home, there."

Harry hardly felt _at home_ in Snape's rooms, but he did see what the other man meant. "Oh... very well," he grudgingly consented. "Professor Dumbledore... should I owl to ask him to visit me, or would the invitation be better coming from you? I'm thinking that I want to keep Ron... oh, and Ginny, too... uninvolved in this entire... er, affair." He blushed, but soldiered on. "Anyway, if I invite him he might think nothing of stopping by Gryffindor Tower on his way in. I'd really no-one even realise he's been at Hogwarts, let alone seen me about... this matter."

"You really have considered things from all angles," the headmaster approved. Again, Harry noticed, Snape made no effort to echo the praise. "I'll write him then, and ask that he Floo here without mentioning it to either of his children," the headmaster murmured. "Sunday noon, we'll make it. Severus, if you would arrange for a meal to be served in your quarters? Or have you already instructed Harry in handling such matters? We _do_ want him to appear entirely at ease in what is, after all, soon to be his home."

"I shall see to everything, Headmaster."

"Of course you will, of course...." Albus turned back to Harry, then. "Well, I believe that takes care of everything, my boy. Unless you have some questions for Severus or myself?"

Harry shook his head. "I'll just go back to the Tower."

"The dungeons," Snape smoothly corrected. "We've matters of our own to attend to still this evening. Personal matters."

Harry knew what _that_ meant. He couldn't help the flush of heat that came up into his face, any more than he could help the fact that just the words made him tense up inside. To his shame, it wasn't an entirely bad type of tension, either. Well, he was a perfectly normal eighteen-year-old, at least in _that_ respect. His body craved... certain things. If he were honest, he'd have to admit to himself that he was even the tiniest bit eager for another soul-shattering climax. Not that he wanted one with _Snape,_ of course... 

Harry decided he'd just as soon not be honest.

"Very well," he answered with as much composure as he could muster, repressing a juvenile desire to sneer another _yes, master_ for good measure. Probably that had been a mistake earlier. He'd seen a flash of anger in Snape's eyes. The other man did _not_ appreciate being called that, most likely because the fawning title was what the Death Eaters often called Voldemort. Wondering what Snape would do to retaliate, Harry set his cup and saucer down with a clatter on the small, round table by the hearth before he Flooed away.

  
  
  
  


** Thursday, June 4, 1998 ---- 7:27 p.m. **

"Harry seems to be adjusting remarkably well," Dumbledore remarked once he was alone with the Potions Master. "You are to be commended."

Severus merely inclined his head without replying.

"However, there _are_ merely a scant two weeks left before the invocation," the headmaster continued. "And as I'm aware of the extremely intimate nature of the ceremonies involved, I really must ask... will he be ready?"

"He will, Headmaster."

Unsatisfied by the answer, Dumbledore pressed, "How can you be sure of that?"

Severus stared. "I hardly think the young man would want anyone privy to the details, even you, Albus."

"I don't want details, I want--"

"Assurances," Severus interrupted. "He _will_ be ready. That will have to be assurance enough. Anything more really is a violation of my privacy."

"And his," Dumbledore mildly pointed out.

"As I mentioned a moment ago, yes," Severus sneered. 

A few moments passed in silence, the two of them sipping from teacups that had been magically refilled. With so much to do, Severus wanted to depart, but he knew that look on the old wizard's face. Albus had something else to say, and he would say it in his own time.

There was nothing for Severus to do but wait.

Finally, Dumbledore ventured, "It concerns me that after all these weeks you seem to have so little empathy for the boy, Severus."

The other man's eyes glittered a hard black. "I tolerate his presence _in my home,_ Albus. And I will continue to do so."

"You speak to him very harshly."

 _Not always,_ Severus thought, remembering the long hours he'd spent kissing Harry and murmuring encouragement against tendrils of that black hair. 

"You stint on praise even when he's quite obviously impressed you."

"If it is so obvious," Severus coolly responded, "there should be no need for praise."

"Severus, we _all_ need praise from time to time."

"And he shall receive some when he truly pleases me."

Albus' shoulders slumped. "I thought you said he would be ready."

"I thought _you_ said he was adjusting remarkably well and I should be commended," Severus sneered in reply. "If you indeed believe that, then do not interfere with my determination of how best to handle Mr Potter."

"Just because Harry is bearing up admirably under what must be a frightful amount of stress does _not_ mean you should make that as difficult as possible for him, Severus."

"I am also bearing up admirably under a frightful amount of stress, Albus," Severus retorted, rising to his feet. "Do _not_ ask yet more of me."

"You are an adult--"

"Yes, one who risks his life _ad infinitum_ in the Dark Lord's own lair. One who will take the detested son of a deeply hated enemy into not just his home but his life. _For_ life. I am doing enough for the cause; I _cannot_ pretend the situation is to my liking. It is enough that I have contrived to make the... _intimacies_... pleasant for the young man. Will that be all, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore shook his head and gave a heavy sigh. "No, that will not be all. Sit down, Severus." And when the Potions Master didn't, "I insist."

Severus arranged his long body in the chair again, his eyes impassive as he studied the older wizard. "Yes?"

"I must confess, though I knew the basic purpose and form _Cambiare Podentes_ had to assume, I knew very little about the invocation itself. Parts of it are... quite shocking. This requirement for you to mark the young man. Considering your personal history, Severus, that must be quite an imposition."

"Indeed," Severus drawled, giving nothing away.

"Have you determined the best way to go about it, then?"

The truth was that Severus had thought of little else. The whole idea was repugnant to him, perhaps even more repugnant than the demand that he acquire a slave at all. According to his research into _Podentes_ , the requirements for the mark were twofold. It must be visible on the exterior of the supplicant's body, and the supplicant must be unable to remove it.

Something along the lines of a magically induced tattoo or scar was the most logical option, to be sure, but Severus held a deep distaste for the idea. No doubt Harry would feel the same. Still, one way or another, the young man had to be marked. "I have yet to discuss the matter with Mr Potter," Severus settled for saying. "But we will come to a satisfactory solution, I am sure."

"You have been calling him Mr Potter throughout our conversation," Albus softly observed.

"I do call him _Harry_ when I deem it appropriate. Is that all now, Headmaster?"

"'Headmaster'... you really are prickly at times, Severus."

"I take it that will indeed be all."

"No. One more thing. If a wizard as old and learned as myself knew almost nothing about the invocation rites of this particular spell, I can't think that Arthur Weasley will know much about it. It's entirely possible he has never heard of _Cambiare Podentes_ , and as I said, some of the things you will have to do to invoke are quite shocking. It would be best to prepare him in advance. Therefore, I should like to share with him the excellent précis you wrote for Harry."

"You found the copy I provided you of use, then?"

"Inestimably."

"Very well," Severus agreed, shaking out his robes as he stood. "I would recommend you excise all those portions not directly related to the invocation itself. Weasley does not need to know the details of _Compulsio_ and all the rest in order to be a competent witness."

"Of course, of course. Severus, what is your view? Should I ask Arthur to visit with me before he Floos down to see Harry, or speak with him afterwards?"

Severus considered that for a moment. "I believe Weasley will be better disposed toward the entire idea if you permit Mr Potter to break the news, as it were."

"You trust Harry to persuade him that the enslavement is best for all concerned?"

Snape scowled, as it definitely wasn't best for _him_. Or Harry. But yes, it was best for everyone else. "I trust the prophecy," he corrected. "But Weasley will be more at ease if Mr Potter presents it."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I tend to agree. Thank you, Severus."

The Potions Master nodded, then Flooed off without another word. 

  
  
  
  


** Thursday, June 4, 1998 ---- 7:27 p.m. **

Snape's quarters were pretty boring, Harry decided. At least before the N.E.W.T.s he'd had studying to do, but now, he didn't even bring his books down. No point. Classes were all but over, the teachers understanding that they'd be hard pressed to require anything much from their students when the end-of-school exams had come and gone. Most seventh-year classes had moved away from the regular curriculum and were emphasizing life skills at this point. How to apply for a marriage license, how to manage your own finances, that sort of thing.

Things that Harry would never need to know, not now. 

A desperate sort of depression engulfed him whenever he thought about it. The worst part was that all his friends were so very excited about the vista of life opening up before them. They couldn't wait to get out into the world and make their mark on it.

All Harry had to look forward to was _being_ marked. By Snape.

Now wasn't _that_ a horrible thought. It was like his life was divided into phases, each one worse than the last, each one etched forcibly into his body. A little over a year of presumed happiness, and then Voldemort had marked him, sentencing him to years and years of neglect with the Dursleys and conflict once he'd reached Hogwarts. And now he was looking at another phase, this one to last until the end of his days. Snape's mark... whatever it might be... and utterly complete and hopeless slavery.

It was enough to drive him to drink. 

Instead of giving in to the impulse to get rip-roaring sloshed before Snape returned home, Harry wandered the man's quarters, opening drawers and cabinets, investigating whatever he found. At least it was something to do. And it wasn't like the pensive incident of fifth year, either... Snape had _said_ to make himself at home, hadn't he? Might as well, it was going to _be_ his home, distressing as that thought was. 

Besides, it wasn't like he found anything very interesting. Plenty of drawers were warded, to start with. And if he knew for certain now that all Snape's socks were black... well, he could have guessed that much, couldn't he?

After he'd been through all the rooms, it occurred to him to wonder where Snape had put the clothes he'd purchased in Norway. Harry's clothes. Well, not his really, as he wasn't going to be allowed to own anything, but clothes for him to wear. Where were they? Harry didn't even find the piles of sweatpants he'd expect to be stashed somewhere, given that Snape had made him wear a different pair --without underwear!-- every single night.

He idly wondered, not for the first time, what happened to his clothes after he left them in a mess on the bathroom floor. Was Snape applying a cleaning charm to the evidence of their progress towards a _physical relationship?_ That was embarrassing to contemplate, but far worse was the idea that the house elves might know what was going on down in the Potions Master's quarters. Of course, sooner or later, plenty of people would know, Harry supposed. He ought to get used to it. Even with Arthur Weasley's help, the filing at the Ministry wouldn't stay secret forever, and once it was known that Harry Potter was somebody's slave --somebody's _sex_ slave-- there was no possible way the identity of his... _owner..._ would remain unknown.

Rita Skeeter would make it her life's ambition to find out just who Harry Potter was sleeping with... who he was _servicing._ Her, and about a thousand other journalists. Of course, Harry didn't know if there _were_ that many reporters in the wizarding world, but for a story this juicy, people would probably go into that line of work.

And they'd want details. Lots of details. They'd probably resort to spying on him. Not that he hadn't been spied on before, but this was bound to be worse. Much worse.

Maybe he ought to have a drink, after all. But he didn't.

Finally ending up in the reading room, Harry perused the shelves with only the mildest interest. He found himself wishing for a television or a radio. He normally didn't mind their lack--it wasn't like he'd been given much leisure time at the Dursleys, was it?--but even listening through the window as he'd pulled weeds and planted flowers had done something to alleviate the boredom.

Now, there was nothing.

And it was going to be like this for the rest of his life.

  
  
  
  


** Thursday, June 4, 1998 ---- 7:51 p.m. **

Snape came out of the Floo already speaking. "Recite the incantation, if you would."

Harry repressed his impulse to sigh, and began speaking archaic Hindustani.

"Adequate," Snape pronounced when the young man had finished. "Keep practicing. Bear in mind that the nineteenth and fifty-first syllables are _kal,_ not _kol_."

Harry nodded, feeling a bit like a marionette. Then it came to him that this willing submission business required more than playing puppet. "Uh, did you want... you know?"

Snape seated himself on the settee and regarded Harry, still standing, through hooded eyes. "How long is it going to take to cure you of the vapid desire to call sexual congress 'you know'?"

"Funny, it seemed to me you'd rather I'd said You-Know-Who all these years instead of using his name!"

"That's quite a different circumstance," Snape murmured, his voice going darker as talk of Voldemort led him to order, "Do not call me master again."

Harry nodded again, then when he realised he was doing it, cut it out. "Okay, so, what about..."

"'You know'?" Snape sneered, curling a lip. "That's twice you've asked. You sound positively eager."

"I'm not!" Harry objected.

"Point of protocol, Potter," Snape drawled. "It's decidedly bad form to tell the one who owns you that you're not eager for his touch. The spell is for wizards in love, remember? You're going to want me. I'll make sure of it." As Harry opened his mouth, Snape went on, "And don't tell me that I don't own you yet. I'm well aware we're practicing. Are you aware how vital it is, with the invocation less than two weeks away?"

"Yes," Harry grated. 

"Good, because I won't be laying out any clothes for you to wear, tonight. You're to go shower, and then get into my bed naked."

"N... n... _naked?_ " Harry gasped. 

Snape gave him what could only be described as an impatient glance. "Yes, naked," he repeated, scorn filling the word. "We're practicing for the invocation, in case you've lost track of that. You didn't think you were going to keep your clothes on the entire time, did you?"

Harry flinched from the images running riot in his mind. "You said I wouldn't have to get naked in front of the witnesses!"

"And so you see why I'd prefer not to tell you things in advance," Snape sneered. "It only engenders stupid questions I could do without!"

Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Am I going to have to prance around in the nude in front of Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley, or not?"

"Well, that's up to me, isn't it?" Snape smoothly replied, his voice gone almost oily, somehow. "I'll have to give it some thought. The witnesses are permitted to leave after the shared meal has been completed, but there's nothing in the rite to say I can't invite them to remain for the ritual bath."

"You wouldn't," Harry said, his shaking voice a testament to the fact that he wasn't terribly certain of that.

"I hadn't planned to, certainly," Snape admitted, his eyes hard and black. "If you give me much more nonsense about doffing your clothes tonight, however..." He left the threat hanging in the air.

"I really do hate you," Harry snarled.

"The feeling's mutual," Snape snapped back. "Sweet Merlin, you don't think I _want_ you naked in my bed, do you?"

Harry knew full well that was meant to sting. And it did, but not because rejection bothered him. Growing up where he had, he was used to the feeling that he didn't measure up. The comment gave him the creeps because of what Snape meant but didn't say. Had he given the impression that he _wanted_ to be _wanted?_ By Snape, of all people?

"I'm _not_ attracted to men, remember!" Harry shouted, completely incensed. "And nothing we've done in the last few weeks changes that, is that goddamned good and clear? The fact that I might have... uh..."

"I believe the word you're grasping for is _climaxed,_ " Snape saw fit to insert.

Well, if a snide bastard could say it, so could Harry. "Yeah! Well the fact that I might have _climaxed_ with you doesn't mean a thing! You made me! It's not like I _wanted_ to!"

"Might have?" Snape mocked, a cruel twist contorting his features. "Are we experiencing a little bit of denial, Harry? Might have? You've come screaming out your pleasure so loudly I had to strengthen the wards lest all Slytherin wonder what has you so very satisfied!"

"Shut up!"

"I won't," Snape silkily announced. "I'll say whatever I please to you. And I'll touch you however I like as well, starting tonight, so go get yourself cleaned up for me as I said!"

In that instant, Harry wanted nothing to much as to punch the smirk right off Snape's face. But what good would that do? They'd still have to invoke this horrid spell. He'd still have to let Snape touch him... let Snape do far more than merely touch him. It was either that, or be responsible for the end of the world.

Life, Harry reflected, really had dealt him some shite cards.

Sighing, Harry stomped down the hall and through the bedroom. He swept into the bathroom and slammed the door, then turned the shower on full blast and yanked his clothes off with jerking, uncoordinated movements. Soap all over, then a rinse... getting himself cleaned up for his _master_. The routine was a familiar one by now, but that didn't make it any easier.

A towel slung about his hips, he ventured into the bedroom. Snape had obviously come and gone; not only was the bed turned down, but there were several lit candles in evidence. But no clothes, just as threatened. Sighing, Harry slid between Snape's smooth sheets, then pulled the towel loose and dropped it on the floor beside him. His thoughts flew forward to the _ritual bath_ Snape had mentioned. Harry hadn't thought about that before, or not much, but now he did. Snape's précis had mentioned that the bath involved ceremonies of its own. Naked ones, no doubt, he thought as he frowned. _Sexual_ ones...

Well, it didn't take a genius, did it? Just as well... Snape had to make him feel pleasure in front of the witnesses, but probably in the ritual bath, he had to make Harry climax. It would certainly explain why they'd spent so much time practicing that, and also why Snape was insisting that Harry learn to do it without clothes... probably he needed to get used to that, so he wouldn't be so nervous at the invocation that he froze up...

He closed his eyes when Snape appeared in the open doorway. Sliding down deeper into the bed, he wished it could just swallow him and take him away from this, all of it.

"No need to look as though I plan to murder you," Snape casually remarked as he shut the door, leaving the room ensconced in soft candlelight.

Harry thought better than to answer that, given that in his current frame of mind _he_ could quite cheerfully murder one Severus Snape.

"Open your eyes and look at me," the Potions Master ordered.

It took Harry a moment to comply, but even so, he couldn't hide his resentment. He didn't even try.

Snape only raised an eyebrow. "You must have known it was coming to this. And what difference does a bit of cloth here or there make? It's not as though I haven't pleasured you before."

"You know perfectly well what the difference is," Harry rasped. "It's more..."

"Intimate? Personal? _Sexual?_ " Snape shrugged and began unbuttoning his cuffs. "You may as well accustom yourself to things only getting more so. There's nothing either one of us can do about it."

At least the man wasn't demanding valet services this evening, Harry thought. He didn't think he could possibly bear that, to get up out of the bed, starkers, and take off Snape's shirt or rub his chest or kiss him.

"You're blushing," the Potions Master observed as he slid into the bed half-dressed. Another mercy, as far as Harry was concerned. He couldn't endure both of them naked under the heavy velvet coverlet, he was sure he couldn't.

 _But that's coming, make no mistake,_ a phantom voice haunted him. A deep, smooth voice. Harry shook his head to make it go away.

"No, you're _not_ blushing?" Snape questioned, shaking his own head, his eyes a little bit mirthful. He leaned over and kissed Harry then, a soft brushing of lip on lip, his hands settling on both Harry's shoulders to steady him when reflex had Harry trying to shy away. Another kiss, a deeper one, Snape coaxing his lips to open that time.

The Potions Master's hands began to slide across his bare skin. Shoulders first, and then down to Harry's firm pectorals and trim waist. Fingers lingering, tracing his ribs... a rough palm skimming the length of his side all the way down to his hip even as the kiss went on and on.

"You're a healthy young man, not a stone," Snape said, breathing heavily as he broke off finally. "Kiss me back."

Harry swallowed, twisting his hip away from the fingers stroking his hip bone. "Cast _Sensatus_ ," he gasped, desperate to let sensation take him away from knowledge, desperate to sink into the near-oblivion of the spell before Snape began to touch him in earnest.

Snape merely leaned in to lave his tongue against Harry's neck, the feeling so familiar by then, so well-known, that Harry couldn't help but gasp even without _Sensatus_ to help him forget it was Snape's bare chest pressing into his own, Snape's hand moving on his hip, moving toward the front and centre. And then the Potions Master's mouth moved back toward his, Snape's breath hot on Harry's lips as the man huskily promised, "Kiss me _back_ , Harry, and I'll cast _Sensatus._ "

Harry opened his mouth, but whether to protest that or comply, he never knew, for Snape gave him no chance to find out. _Kissed breathless_ began to take on an entirely new meaning, Harry actually going light-headed after a moment. _This_ kiss was so passionate, so imbued with longing and desire, so... _demanding,_ that Harry began to feel as though his blood had turned to melted butter within his veins. And it wasn't just his blood that was responding to the sheer intensity of Snape's kiss.

Fierce heat stole up his neck to paint his face as Harry realised two things in one fell swoop. One, he was harder than a rock down there, and two, Snape hadn't even touched him yet, not as he meant to. He was hard from the kiss alone, and any second now, Snape was going to touch him and know it. Humiliated, but with nowhere to hide, Harry acted on pure reflex and tucked his face against Snape's shoulder so that at least he wouldn't have to look at him and see the smirk sure to curl the man's lips.

The Potions Master's hand wrapped around Harry's length, his touch sure and confident, nothing like Harry's own fumbling touches when he pleasured himself.

Harry groaned against the man's shoulder, and it wasn't a groan of protest... though he couldn't help but hope that Snape would take it for one.

"Ah, good," he heard Snape lightly breathe. Then the man was rolling them so that they would lay on their sides, facing each other. Harry kept his face hidden, and tried to will his arousal away.

Snape must have sensed as much, though Harry had no idea how. "No, you're fine," he whispered, his free hand stroking Harry's spine for a moment before moving upwards to sift through his hair. "Just let it happen, Harry. You must learn to let me do this; you must believe that you can enjoy it."

Polite fiction, Harry sensed, for of course he was already _enjoying_ it, at least in a purely physical sense. And Snape knew that, of course. Quite why the man would speak as though he _didn't_ was a mystery to Harry. Perhaps he thought it was the only way Harry would be able to make it through the evening.

"You will come to welcome this," Snape breathed against his ear.

And then that hand on him was squeezing, making Harry gasp out in reaction, pulsing breaths coming so fast they seemed to merge together into one long pant of need. He went dizzy again, sure he wasn't getting any oxygen, and Snape, responding, altered his rhythm and began to stroke Harry up and down, a firm pressure reminiscent of the times he'd huddled in his bed up in the Tower and brought himself to completion.

This was similar, but it was intensely different, too. This was rougher, and less predictable, and _this_ came with hot breath in his ear, and a warm arm wrapped around him.

"You said... _Sensatus,_ " Harry begged.

"You hardly need it," Snape rasped, yanking Harry's head free of his shoulder to devour his mouth in a kiss which that time had Harry feeling as though his soul had split open. He thought then that the Potions Master would deny him the spell, but when the kiss ended, he felt a wand touching the aching tip of his erection, and heard a single word. " _Sensatus..._ "

All at once, sensation exploded inside him with such strength and ferocity that Harry arched his back and screamed.

A warm, firm hand was touching him, stroking his hardness, and then another one joined it, the two working in concert to make him pulse with need. Harry opened his mouth to moan, to plead, and felt his lips taken in another kiss. This time, there was no thought in him to resist the pleasure, no thought to lay quiescent while his lips were plundered. He matched the lips against his, kiss for kiss, tongue for tongue, tasting coffee laced with whiskey, breathing in the heady scent of spices ground to powder as the hand on him took up a new rhythm, one designed to make him come long and hard, shuddering with the force of the release.

He yanked his face away from the kisses as the pleasure began to roil through him, and clutching hard at the man who held him, bit into Snape's shoulder rather than scream out loud a second time.

Pulse after pulse, wave after wave, the sensations so intense he thought he'd surely pass out. A flavour he didn't recognise hit his tongue as he bit down harder, and still he came, the climax easily several times as fierce as the ones he'd brought about himself. And stronger too, than the ones Snape had caused by rubbing hip to groin...

 _Snape_.

_He was coming, pumping into Snape's hand._

And even though the spell was fading now, leaving him, he couldn't stop, couldn't keep from groaning out loud as the surges of pleasure kept spiralling through him. 

Through him and _out_ , until there was no more pleasure to be spilt. 

Harry groaned again and finally loosened his jaw, understanding that the strange flavour was blood. He'd bitten straight through Snape's skin, two crescents of teeth marks there on the man's shoulder to remind Harry how he'd lost control, how he'd given in and given himself. Willingly, to Snape.

 _It was the Sensatus,_ he tried to tell himself, but he didn't quite believe it. The spell hadn't made him hard; Snape's kiss alone had done that. All that practice learning to feel pleasure at the man's hand... well, now he could feel it, couldn't he? Whether he wanted to or not.

"That went... rather better than I had expected," Snape murmured as he pulled back, away from Harry, who wished the bed would simply open and swallow him alive.

"It's just a physical reaction," he blurted, mortified. "A reflex, like I said!"

"It is," Snape calmly agreed. By then he was looking at his hand, at the seed he'd caught as Harry had come. A quick cleaning charm was the end of it, but Harry couldn't forget that the man had _looked_ at it. Why do that?

Harry began backing away.

"No, stay," Snape put a quick end to that, reaching out an arm to wrap around Harry's waist. Harry struggled briefly; another reflex. But then he remembered why he was in Snape's bed to begin with. To learn pleasure, to learn submission. Going still, he allowed the Potions Master to pull him backwards until they were nestled together, Snape's bare chest pressed up against Harry's back.

Like spoons in a drawer, the ludicrous image came to him.

And he was still bare-arsed naked, something he'd forgotten for a little while during... Harry shook his head to clear it. There was no chance of forgetting his state of undress _now_ , was there? Not with Snape's chest so warm behind him, with the rough feel of the man's woollen trousers scratching his backside.

Panicking again, Harry started to struggle slightly.

Snape just nipped him lightly on the top of one ear to make him cut it out.

Harry subsided, resentful but quiescent.

"Just relax," Snape dryly advised. "We've fallen into a bad habit, having you rush off the moment you've had your pleasure."

His stomach clenching, Harry weakly ventured, "Oh... you mean..." He wasn't even sure how to say it. Well, of _course_ he wasn't. It wasn't like he had any experience in this realm, and Snape knew it, so he thought it was pretty hard-hearted of the man to _make_ him say it. Snape was synonymous with hard-hearted though, wasn't he? "You mean... um, you want something?"

He felt Snape shifting behind him. "I rather doubt you're ready for that. Actually, I meant that you need to become accustomed to laying close beside me. Surely you understand why." And when Harry said nothing, "The final act in the invocation?"

"Sleep the night through in the master wizard's arms," Harry whispered, remembering. "What if I can't?"

"Manage to sleep?" A low chuckle rumbled through the Potions Master's chest. "By the time all the ceremonies and rituals are completed, you'll be quite tired, I expect. But it is important that you learn to relax with me beforehand, since on the seventeenth you'll have to sleep bound. You did glean that from the précis?"

Harry tensed. "You're kidding, I hope. That's sort of... that's sort of sick, don't you think?"

"Actually, it's highly symbolic, like many things in the invocation. You'll be bound and helpless, available to anything I wish. And you must go to sleep in that state, which would require quite a bit of trust, I should imagine." Behind him, Snape shrugged, but Harry felt the arms around him tense slightly. "Will it pose a problem?"

"I think so," Harry murmured. "I... well, this probably doesn't even bear saying, but I'm not in the habit of going to sleep tied up--"

"Doubtless," Snape dryly interrupted. "But I meant the trust. That's most likely an important element to complete the invocation. If you feel afraid that I will harm you, I don't think the spell will regard you as truly willing to place yourself in my care, no matter that we'll have completed most of the requirements by then. So, will that pose a problem? You said before that you can't trust me."

"I think..." Nervous, Harry cleared his throat. "I think I know you better now than I did then. You... you want this all to work. I know you're doing what you can to help me through it. I just wish... it didn't have to be so physical, all of it." Harry moved a little to get into a more comfortable position. The moment he stopped fidgeting, Snape curled against him again, just as closely as before. "About these bonds. I know you said they couldn't be taken off until the invocation was completed, but I was sort of hoping that was that _couldn't_ as in _mustn't be._ But I'm thinking now it's more like they'll be... uh, like magically welded and not even _you_ will be able to undo them?"

"Not until the invocation is completed in full."

Harry shuddered. He hated the thought of being so utterly helpless. He could see how the stupid bonds would be symbolic, though. He was going to end up helpless for the rest of his life, wasn't he? Unable to even do any magic that Snape disapproved of. Trying to think constructively was a bit difficult, but Harry somehow managed. "What if the spell decides I'm not sincere enough? If you can't unlock the shackles or whatever, will I end up... um, restrained forever?"

Behind him, Snape tensed. "No. If _Podentes_ fails to wed itself to your soul, the bonds will dissolve. But even if they didn't, in your case forever would only mean until the end of July."

"Yeah," Harry thickly choked. He was pretty much dreading his birthday, but that only stood to reason. _When the marked one marks his nineteenth year...._ He wondered, not for the first time, what sort of attack was coming. Would Voldemort try to reach out to him through his scar... or worse, was the school itself going to be assaulted by an army of Death Eaters? He almost wanted to ask Snape about it, but he knew that if the Potions Master had that sort of information, he'd have told Harry already. In some things at least, Harry realised, he trusted Snape completely. 

It was mainly to distract himself from thoughts of the coming attack that he asked, "Do you know what kind of bonds these will be? And do you know where on my body they'll appear?"

The Potions Master slid an arm beneath him and urged Harry's head onto his shoulder. "The literature, what little of it exists, is rather vague as to the type and form of the bonds. Considering the spell was constructed for wizards in love, though, I don't anticipate anything overly harsh." 

"I keep thinking how the spell is for wizards in love," Harry whispered, glad it was dark. "And how you said that since we aren't, you might react badly to the kind of rights you're going to have over me. There's a Muggle saying... power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely."

"Apropos," Snape murmured. "Well. We will just have to see, I suppose. I know that can't be much in the way of assurance, but it will have to do, for now. I remain convinced that the likelihood of my _corruption_ remains minimal as long as you give me little reason to discipline you in the first place."

"Oh, that's just a bucketful of comfort." Harry couldn't help but chew his lip. "I wish _Podentes_ was just about slavery, without all the... you know. I understand, it is what it is, but..." he sighed. "Why'd the ancient wizards have to set it up that way, that's what I'd like to know."

"I suspect because of the dynamics involved," Snape said after a moment's thought. "Sex is a powerful force. Sex Magic, all the more so. And it would take a powerful force to twice-fill powers, so the connection is a rather natural one. Too, you might consider that as this was intended for wizards in love, the requirement for sexual relations was hardly an imposition. At any rate, it hardly matters. You were correct before. It is what it is and what is left to us is to simply make use of the spell as best we can." 

A long pause followed, during which Snape's hand played lightly against his stomach. Finally, the Potions Master's lean fingers came to rest upon the ridge of Harry's hipbone. Harry held his breath, but Snape made no move to touch him intimately again.

"I do not mean to seem unsympathetic to your plight," Snape at length murmured, sounding sleepy. "But I am not by nature given to bouts of maudlin pity for things that cannot be helped. That said, I do wish you to know..." The hand on his hipbone tightened slightly. "You are doing well, Harry."

And with that, Snape's breathing became low and slow, his arms relaxing until Harry could slip free.


	24. Chapter 24

 

 

** Friday, June 5, 1998 ---- 7:16 p.m. **

"Sorry I'm late," Harry announced as soon as he'd arrived through the Floo. 

Severus looked the young man up and down. Hair dishevelled --more so than usual, that was, clothing looking as though it had been thrown on in haste... and more than that, Harry was panting slightly. "What have you been doing?"

"Quidditch ran over."

Harry avoided his eyes as he said it, Severus noticed. "Quidditch season is over for the year."

Shrugging, the Gryffindor took his usual place on the settee and glanced up at Severus, who was still standing. "It wasn't a real match, just a last minute thing with the Hufflepuffs."

"What aren't you telling me?" Severus said, narrowing his eyes when Harry's went wide with surprise. "Yes, contrary to the conceits of youth, you aren't the only one who can _read_ others. And so?"

"I just thought I should get some flying in," Harry said, slight resentment coming through the level tones he was trying to project. "I mean, after we invoke..."

"After we invoke, what? Did you think I'd forbid Quidditch?"

The way Harry slumped told him the young man had thought precisely that. "I know you don't approve of it."

"On the contrary, I believe I said it had its uses," Severus reminded him, but Harry appeared to not catch the reference. Just as well, in the circumstances. His façade of cool indifference had definitely been slipping of late, but Severus stood by his original assessment. For the moment, at least. Perhaps after they invoked... after they'd had some time to adjust to the ongoing demands of _Podentes_... perhaps after Harry came to see intimacy with Severus as a pleasure rather than something to be endured, he would be ready to hear that Severus viewed it in the same light.

As for this idea that he'd allow no more flying... Severus almost sighed at the irony of _that_ assumption. If only Harry knew... He wanted to set the young man straight, wanted to assure him that he had no intention for his slavery to be akin to captivity. Harry would be as free as Severus could make him, within the constraints of the spell. To explain that now, though, would only reap disaster. In twelve days' time they would invoke. Harry would kneel before him and drink the hallucinogenic potion on his command; Harry would recite the Hindustani incantation and follow Severus' lead as they progressed through the intricate rituals required to bond him into slavery... and if at any point, the supplicant's yielding of himself was anything less than whole-hearted, it would all be for naught.

He simply couldn't have Harry willing to invoke _because_ Severus had promised something about the future, be it Quidditch or anything else. Harry had to yield himself without reservation, had to be willing to live under any dictate Severus chose to impose.

Leaning forward, Harry poured a glass of burgundy-coloured wine from the bottle Severus had set out to breathe, then lifted it to offer it to the other man. Severus took it and twirled the stem of the glass between his fingers as he watched Harry pour another for himself. Then he sat down in a chair facing the settee and thought about how to begin.

"We need to clarify a few things, I think. The invocation is coming fast upon us. The spell requires me to mark you, as you know. I've done quite a bit of research to determine what might be the best way."

Severus wasn't too surprised when Harry's face paled. Well, that was better than the blush he tended to get at odd times, now. Severus meant to speak to him about that, too, but it could wait. 

"What have you decided?"

Severus took another sip of wine then set his glass aside. "You expressed reservations about scars, or anything akin to the Dark Mark, as I recall. I don't have to take your wishes into account. Ever. Is that clear?"

Mute, Harry merely nodded.

"As it happens," Severus continued, "your scar and the Dark Mark are both infused with powerful magic. Any mark that echoed either one of them could be problematic because your subconscious mind might imbue it with... overtones I don't wish it to have. That is, you associate them both with negative experiences."

"Like slavery isn't negative."

"It doesn't have to be," Severus asserted, but stopped himself before he said anything more along those lines. It was never far from his mind that he had to be careful what he said to Harry. "Just take it as understood that I have no wish for you to think of me as I think of the Dark Lord, and you'll see what I mean."

"Yeah, you said you had no desire to be... _that_ sort of master," Harry murmured, glancing away. "So, what did you have in mind, then? Or is this one more time when you have to leave me to guess?"

"Would I have brought it up if it were?"

Harry tilted his head to the side. "Sure, if you wanted to taunt me."

"You're making me want to," Severus rebuked him.

"Sorry," Harry admitted, colouring again as he looked away. "Last night you talked about trust, you know, and... it's difficult for me. You have spent years trying to provoke me in class."

"This isn't class," Severus mildly returned. "It's nothing like class. Perhaps it would surprise you to learn that in my estimation you spent years trying to provoke _me_." When Harry's mouth dropped open, Severus went on, "I will grant that I started it, but none of that matters now. As to your mark..." Dragging in a deep breath, Severus forced himself to go on. Forced himself, even, to show Harry none of the repugnance that filled him to even speak of such things. 

Fishing deep in a trouser pocket, he drew forth a tiny disk of metal. "This will do admirably, I think."

Harry took it from him, his fingers turning it over. A bronze hue, the disk was only half again as large as the fingernail on his fifth finger. Largely solid, it was engraved on both sides with runes. "What is this, an earring?"

Severus supposed he could be forgiven for thinking so. Actually, it was a testament to how very innocent Harry was in such matters, that he had no idea what he held. 

"It could be used as one," Severus admitted. "But then it would be visible to anyone who looked at you, so I rather think we should affix it to another part of your body."

Instead of asking the obvious question, Harry furrowed his brow. "I thought it had to be visible?"

"Visible but not necessarily on public display," Severus clarified, realising that the précis could have been clearer. On several matters, no doubt.

Harry gave what Severus could only think of as a grim nod. Not happy; who would be? But agreeing. _Submissive_. It left a rather bitter taste in Severus' mouth, and things were not improved when Harry _did_ ask the obvious question. 

"So then, where?"

Instead of answering out loud, Severus moved to sit beside the young man. Reaching out with long fingers, he methodically unfastened the plain white buttons on Harry's shirt. Thank Merlin, there was no tie tonight to complicate matters.

"Here," Severus finally answered, taking a dusky male nipple between thumb and forefinger. Harry didn't react until he pinched lightly.

"Oh, _there..."_ Clearing his throat, the young man swallowed several times. "I... I suppose that's better than some of the alternatives. I don't suppose it'll ever come off again?"

"It will never come off, no."

"I don't exactly follow. Even if you... um, magically weld it to me, I'd think it could be..." Harry winced, but didn't otherwise flinch from the image, "forcibly torn loose?"

"There are charms to make your flesh impervious."

A deep breath, then a sigh. "All right."

"You're taking this better than I anticipated," Severus couldn't help but remark. He'd expected arguments, at the very least. 

"You said something like that last night," Harry reminded him, closing his eyes as he coloured yet again. 

He was likely to get more embarrassed rather than less as the night went on, but Severus didn't see how to prevent that, considering all that remained for them to do. "As the matter of your mark is settled, I thought I'd ask how you are doing without the Dreamless Sleep. You _have_ stopped taking it as I requested?"

"Yes, of course."

Hmm. The young man sounded slightly offended, which was interesting. For all that, though, he wasn't the slightest bit forthcoming with the details. _That_ was rather disheartening.

"And so?" Severus pressed. "It's been almost a week you've done without. Have your dreams returned in force?"

Harry shifted away, ending up in the corner of the settee. "Yes," he whispered. 

"Harry, if I have to drag it out of you I will be most displeased."

The young man pursed his lips, and for a moment Severus thought he saw defiance brewing in his eyes, but then something in them yielded. "I wake Ron up every night, is that what you want to hear?"

Considering the charm that extended silencing wards on Harry's bed over to his friend's, Snape almost wished he'd ordered Harry to continue using Dreamless Sleep right up through the end of the term. On the other hand, having Harry arrive at the invocation ill from lack of natural sleep was a decidedly bad idea as well. In that case, the hallucinogenic potion might affect him so strongly that he couldn't competently recite the Hindustani invocation.

"It's the cemetery again," Harry went on, somewhat stilling Severus' fears that the young man was experiencing sexual dreams, this time. Until he added, "But it's different, now. You're there."

"I'm among the Death Eaters?"

"No, no mask..." Harry pulled his legs up onto the settee, curling them underneath his body in a defensive posture, though Severus doubted he realised how telling the position was. "I don't think Vol--" Sighing, he started over. "I don't think the Dark Lord knows you're there, at least at first. He ignores you; they all do. But _I_ can see you brewing potions off in the distance. You're using a couple of tombstones to hold your cauldrons. You're..." The young man thickly swallowed. "You're summoning grotesque _things..._ body parts, I mean, from the graves and brewing them into this sort of greyish sludge."

Severus stiffened, but he could tell there was more, so he prompted, "Yes? And then?"

Harry swiftly looked at him before returning his gaze to his own hands. "You bring me a goblet of the potion you've made. It's the Goblet of Fire, actually. It's brimming over with thick globs that smell just _awful_. And... well, this is where the dream diverges. On some nights you say, _drink, Potter_ and hand it to me. I'm tied, but the minute you speak my hands are free and I can grab the goblet. It's so hot it burns my fingers down to coals, but I don't let go... I drink, like you've said. And it burns me inside, too, the pain streaking through me like lightning strikes, but I keep drinking; I can't stop. And... it kills me."

Severus didn't think he'd heard right. "It _kills_ you? Do you mean that literally?"

Harry nodded. "And then you chop me up and toss _me_ in a potion and the Death Eaters all drink me while toasting _you_. That's about the time I wake up screaming."

"I should imagine so," the Potions Master murmured. "Does your scar burn during the dream? Or after you wake from it, perhaps?"

Harry clenched his hands. "Um, I can't tell, really. I mean, it burns most of the time now. Sort of a low-level pain. Like... I'm never very far from his thoughts. It's what finally helped me learn to Occlude. I could tell... he was going to sink straight into my brain and _stay_ there if I didn't learn to keep him out."

"I wasn't aware your scar pained you so much of the time."

"It's not so bad."

Severus thought about that for a moment. "It may grow worse. There is no way to predict how the invocation might affect your connection with the Dark Lord."

Harry fingered the runic disk that was to become his mark, but when he glanced up, his mind was clearly on other matters. "All the more reason for you to have no more contact with the madman, don't you think? What if the connection is strengthened and he sees what's really going on with you? He's not going to appreciate it."

 _Likely not_ , Severus thought, but he wasn't going to debate the matter. "You said the dream diverged on some nights. What other paths does it take?"

"Severus," Harry began in an impatient tone, but the Potions Master cut him off. 

"You're supposed to be learning to please me. That includes knowing how to take a hint. _You_ are not in charge of my activities, be they brewing or anything else. In fact, you are not in charge of me at all." Glowering slightly, Severus repeated, "What other paths does your dream take?"

"Just one other. Instead of making me drink the potion, you pour it over the top of my head, and..." Harry swallowed.

Severus waited, but the young man didn't resume. "And that kills you as well?"

"No." Harry's voice was thick. "It's worse than that. I... I just disappear. Like I never existed at all, except the Death Eaters and the... the Dark Lord, they all vanish too, and you're all that's left. An Order of Merlin crest appears on your robes, and it's not First Class. They've made a new category just for you. I can't remember what it was called but it was higher than First Class. You... you go over to where I was before I disappeared, and you point your wand at the rope that used to tie my hands behind my back, and it bursts into flame and vanishes, too. And then you walk away."

"Does this one make you wake up screaming?"

Harry shook his head and set the nipple ring on the table, his fingers shaking though his voice was suddenly calm. "No. I can't scream. By the end I'm not even _there_."

"You fear that the invocation will make the real _you_ vanish, clearly," Severus murmured.

Harry closed his eyes. "Brilliant deduction."

"Since it is the real you that you must yield me, Harry, your fears are... not rational. This is precisely why I wanted you to stop falling into those submissive trances. _Podentes_ requires you to _not_ vanish but rather to exist within my will for you."

"Considering you _will_ for me could be the exact opposite of what the real me wants... oh, never _mind,_ " Harry abruptly groaned. "Doesn't matter. It's like we agreed last night. What is, is, and I just have to learn to deal with it."

Forcing himself to drop that subject before he said too much, Severus went back to the first dream Harry had described. "And this other nightmare, the one during which I _kill_ you... have you some subconscious fear that _Podentes_ is in fact a ruse by which you will be delivered to the Dark Lord?"

Harry's eyes snapped open. "No. Don't be stupid." The moment he said it, however, the young man jerked slightly. "Sorry. I have to learn to watch what I say."

Severus repressed an urge to sigh out loud. "Harry, this goes right back to your unwarranted fear that you may vanish. _Podentes_ does not require you to subsume your personality into some mould you believe I prefer. Do you not recall discussing this in Norway?"

"Yeah, I _recall_ it, but to be honest, I didn't really get it. You make a big deal of the fact that I'm supposed to please you. I don't see how that can go along with me speaking my mind like you said--"

"Perhaps because I said that your speaking your mind _would_ please me?"

"That's self-contradictory," Harry complained. "It's a paradigm--"

"Paradox," corrected Severus in a dry voice. "And yes, it is. Some of the most powerful magic ever created is forged from paradox. You surely don't believe that everything you have learned in the last seven years rests on rational explanations?"

"No... but in Norway, you said there were things you'd prefer I not say. Like that you're old enough to be my father, which is just the honest truth. I mean, _that_ one's not even insulting, and you said not to say it."

Leaning back, Severus crossed one knee over the other. "I suppose what I meant to convey was that I think it best if we are civil with one another. There are in fact things better left unsaid. I would make the same assertion even if _Podentes_ formed no part of our future."

"Without _Podentes_ we'd have no future."

Severus thinly smiled. "Quite. But more to the point, without _Podentes_ none of us really have a future, excepting those purebloods willing to let the Dark Lord hold sway over them. Which brings me back to the idea you termed stupid. Why are you dreaming that I will betray you to your enemies, if not because some part of you does in fact fear that very thing? Think before you answer as this is most important. If you cannot truly trust me..." The Potions Master's black eyes were grim. "I do not believe the invocation can possibly succeed."

Surprisingly, the young man did stop to consider the issue before he answered.

"I trust you," Harry admitted, the sound of the words rather grudging that time. "You could have made this worse, all of it. About the dream, I don't know. I can't explain, except... I think I'm just aware that something could go horribly wrong. And if it does, I'll die. And... I guess I dream you kill me because it's up to you, really, to get this right. The potions, all the different things we have to do to invoke... I have to follow your lead, you said. But what if you don't know enough to lead me in the right direction? You said yourself that everything written about this spell is from fragmented sources."

A rather astute analysis of the dream, Severus had to admit. Assuming, of course, that Harry _didn't_ harbour repressed fears regarding Severus' true loyalties. "The invocation is the best-preserved part of the literature," he assured the young man. "It will not go wrong, not as long as your willingness is sincere, and you take care to do exactly as you are told throughout the entire rite."

"Me being so good at following instructions," Harry scoffed. 

Severus acknowledged the sarcasm with a nod, even as he countered, "You are, however, improving."

Harry gave a heavy sigh. "And you say I won't lose myself."

"You are growing up and accepting adult responsibilities." He held up a hand when the young man would have interrupted. "I am aware that you have been accepting adult responsibilities since a young age. But now, I think you are dealing with them more _as_ an adult. We all leave childhood behind, Harry. It's a loss of immaturity, not of self."

Harry pulled the sides of his shirt back across his chest, but didn't do up the buttons. "I don't know why you're trying to make me feel better about it all. You can't think I'll be _happy_ being a slave."

No, Severus couldn't. And what was more, the mere comment made him realise that he was treading upon dangerous ground. "Enough of such morose thoughts," he pronounced, standing and reaching down a hand to draw the young man to his feet as well. "We should be working to deepen our physical accord, not lamenting our respective fates."

Another wave of pink flushed the young man's entire face. "Right. Um, so you want me to go have a shower, I guess? Though I did have a quick one after the Quidditch match. But I'll take another. And then, uh... like last night, I suppose?"

Severus couldn't help but notice that he avoided saying the word _naked_. He wondered how he could ever have thought this young man so experienced. Now that Severus knew the truth, Harry's hesitations and reactions practically screamed _virgin._

 _Assumptions_ , he thought. _I wasn't seeing him so much as my own assumptions, and not just in the realm of sexuality._

"Actually," he carefully said, "I believe tonight had better move us along a bit further toward our goal. Suffice it to say, you won't be the only one naked in the ritual bath, so it would be wise for you to become accustomed to more of my body."

Harry looked like he might pass out, which Severus thought frankly ridiculous. Surely he must have realised that was coming! Then another sentiment rang out inside his head. _Assumptions..._

In retrospect, it was quite possible that Harry had worried so obsessively about what Severus would do _to_ him that he hadn't thought much about the larger context of all that lovemaking entailed. 

His grip on the young man's hand tightened. "We'll shower together."

Harry started shaking, a reaction Severus found less than flattering, but he clamped down hard on his irritation. Not hard enough, apparently; he realised he still sounded annoyed as he bit out, "It's just skin, Potter. Act your age."

"I..." The young man blew out a breath. "I thought you said I could have some privacy when I wanted."

Severus gnashed his teeth. This was what came of being too careless with his words -- exactly what had had been striving to avoid. Never mind that he had every intention of treating the young man decently. That was beside the point. All that mattered was that now, Harry had _expectations_. All this preparation for the invocation would be for nothing if those expectations ended up interfering with the young man's willingness to give himself entirely to Severus.

"I said a closed door would be sufficient to let me know you wish privacy," he corrected in a hard tone. "I did not say that your wishes take precedence over mine. For they don't, ever. Is that perfectly clear?"

Harry looked a bit sick as he nodded. "I'll... just go get started then," he said, his voice weak. 

But he didn't move, didn't even attempt to. It only slowly came to Severus that he was still holding Harry's hand, his grip tight enough to communicate a wish for no more arguments. It might not hurt, but Severus was sure it had caused Harry discomfort at the least. Yet the young man hadn't so much as winced. He didn't even give his hand a shake when Severus released it. He just waited for permission to go.

And Severus, seeing no alternative, gave it.

  
  
  
  


** Friday, June 5, 1998 ---- 8:37 p.m. **

Harry spelled the lights in the bathroom a bit dimmer before he undressed and moved between the stone walls that formed the shower stall. Another tap of his wand and the water began flowing. Lately, the shower itself had begun remembering what temperature he preferred; Harry didn't know if he'd just been in there enough that the room had finally got to know him, or if Snape had changed some sort of ward. Either way, he was left wondering if the water, only slightly warm, was going to suit the other man's preferences. 

Part of him was distressed to even have the question cross his mind. Why should he care what Snape wanted, unless _Podentes_ already had a stranglehold on his thoughts? Already he was trying to please Snape, it seemed.

Or maybe it was just good manners, Harry decided. Not that he was terribly accustomed to sharing a shower -- he didn't count the Quidditch showers, as that was entirely different. It wasn't personal. He didn't have the feeling that he was going to get stared at, not there.

He did have that feeling now, and it was all he could do not to dim the lights still further. That wouldn't do, though. Snape would notice, and while he might not make a caustic comment, he would get that look in his eye. The one that said Harry was tiresome and Snape would just as soon not have to deal with it. Or worse, the one that said he didn't want to look at Harry, anyway, and if Harry didn't _know_ as much by now, then he was even dimmer than Snape had always assumed.

If anyone could _be_ dimmer than that, that was.

Snape hadn't joined him yet, Harry realised. Letting him get used to the idea? A month ago Harry would have dismissed that conclusion out of hand, but after weeks in the other man's company, he'd come to understand that Snape _did_ have... well, not empathy. Nothing as strong as that, certainly. But he could have been a good deal less sensitive in how he'd dealt with Harry. Sometimes, of course, he'd been anything _but_ sensitive, but that was Snape for you. He wasn't exactly the soul of compassion. But neither was he evil personified.

So yeah, probably Snape was letting him get used to the idea. And if past indications were anything to go by, he _would_ get used to it, wouldn't he? He could kiss Snape without flinching now, couldn't he? He didn't like to think much about it, but the other man was actually a good kisser. A very good kisser. 

And there was no doubt that he was good with his hands, too.

Feeling all of a sudden very hot, Harry reached up to the high shelf where he'd set his wand, then spelled the water to be even more cool. At that same moment, he heard the noise of the door opening, Snape making no effort to be quiet as he entered. 

Harry expected another lull as the other man undressed, but it seemed Snape must have taken care of that while still in the bedroom, for in the next instant the water was growing warmer all on its own. Stiflingly warm, in fact. Snape evidently liked it that way, and his quarters knew it.

Almost at the same instant that the temperature increased, Harry sensed someone stepping in behind him. A strong hand reached out to take hold of the wand he still held clutched.

Snape placed it on the high shelf --not nearly as much of a reach for him, Harry couldn't help but notice. "Expecting an attack?"

Facing the wall, his back to Snape, Harry shook his head. "No." Trying to make light of the situation, he groaned, "But hey, constant vigilance, right?"

Snape said nothing to that, which left Harry feeling rather brainless.

The scent of soap began to fill the air. Snape must be lathering up, Harry thought, and what an awful thought it was, Snape cleaning up specifically so they could... well, actually, Harry wasn't sure what they were going to do. Really, he was only sure of two things. His body would probably like it, and afterwards, he'd feel terrible about that very fact.

"Have you already washed?" asked Snape in a matter-of-fact voice.

When Harry shook his head, a pale arm reached into his line of vision. He shivered as he took the offered soap and began to clean himself. Not that he hadn't seen Snape's bare arm before. And really, what was the big deal? Of course the Dark Mark was a rather big deal, but dreams aside, Harry knew that Snape wasn't going to hand him over to Voldemort, so he pushed that matter from his mind. The fact that Snape was standing behind him naked was a much more immediate concern than any mark, even his own to come. But why should it be? It was just skin, like the man had said.

_Just skin..._

Harry told himself not to let it bother him, not that it did a lot of good. He kept thinking that if he turned around --no chance of _that_ , short of Snape issuing an outright command-- he'd see nothing _but_ skin. Was Snape pale all over? Trying to get his mind off the images that question brought forth, Harry concentrated on washing. He wasn't usually so meticulous in the shower, but since he wasn't about to turn around and face Snape on the way out, he had to do something to fill the time. Washing behind his ears didn't take long. Hmm, it had been quite a while since he'd cleaned thoroughly under his fingernails...

By the third time going over each one, however, Harry had run out of good reasons to delay. Sighing, he took up the soap again and began to wash his hair, the step he usually saved for last.

Snape hadn't said anything to him since handing him the soap. Now though... "You wouldn't prefer shampoo?"

Harry repressed an urge to remark that Snape was a fine one to ask a question like that. Especially since it wouldn't even be fair, these days. "Can't tell which one it is," he said instead, his voice slightly muffled as he thrust his head fully beneath the water to rinse out the suds. 

He emerged from the stream to realise that Snape was holding out a stoppered glass flask filled with an orangish-green fluid. It looked pretty foul to Harry's eye, but it smelled woodsy and fragrant as he splashed a dollop across his palm and washed his hair a second time. A very masculine sort of scent, Harry thought. And what was more, it sort of tingled with magic. "You must have brewed it?"

"What makes you think that?"

Harry felt embarrassed explaining, which was rather odd. It wasn't as though he didn't _know_ how good Snape was at his craft. Maybe he didn't like admitting to Snape that he knew. "Um, well... I've never seen anything like it and... it seems..." He started over. "It reminds me of the salve you use on my back."

Behind him, Snape chuckled under his breath. "How does it do that? The two are not the least bit similar."

Harry moved his head so the water would rinse over it again. The suds coursing down his back left a slight trail of relaxation in their wake, a trail that seemed to soak straight through him. "They both feel good," he tried to explain.

"Ah. Well, the salve is my own creation, I will admit. But the house-elves supply that particular shampoo."

"We don't get this kind."

"Of course not." Scent surrounded him, but not the woodsy one. This odour was sharper and almost bitter, yet it definitely smelled of lather. Without even turning around, Harry somehow knew that Snape must be washing his hair as well. Wasn't _that_ a surreal thought. Snape, washing his hair... though of course it had been so straight and clean of late that Harry had actually stopped thinking of the man as greasy.

_Talk about surreal._

"It's personalised for me, infused with a few ingredients aimed at reducing stress," Snape explained. "The meddlesome elves' way of attempting to correct my mood, I suppose. All the professors tend to receive such helpful hints, though this particular shampoo only began appearing in the last few years."

"Dobby," Harry breathed. 

"Pardon?"

"He's an elf here. He's... ah, always trying to help me. Makes himself a right pest at times, but he means well." Harry sighed. "He must have heard me complaining about how I only had to look at you wrong to lose points."

"You exaggerate."

"I don't. So Dobby's magic needs looking at. Or not, I suppose, since it's probably a long shot you used the shampoo very often."

"In point of fact, I've never used it. If I wanted to abrogate control of my mood, there are potions that do a far more effective job. But I don't use them, either. I need to be in control of all my faculties in case I am ever called."

Harry didn't have to ask _called by whom._ And he didn't bother arguing about Snape's insane plan to go right on being called. He'd just get reminded again which one of them was going to be the master and which one the slave.

"But you still keep the shampoo around?" Harry kept his back to Snape. Odd way to have a conversation, but on the other hand, it was all he could bear. And too, it was probably a step in the right direction that they could chit-chat, even about something so insignificant. 

"Of course. It prevents the elves from deciding to become yet more creative with their _hints_."

Harry almost didn't say what came to mind next. But Snape had told him, more than once, that he didn't have to vanish inside some slavish persona incapable of thought, so he went out on a limb and ventured, "Well, if the elves had managed to get some... uh, relaxer inside you years ago, maybe we'd have gotten along a little better. I mean, enough so that I could have stayed in Potions class instead of getting booted out on my arse." _But I can't be an Auror anyway, so what does that really matter?_

Somehow though, it did.

Harry pushed the thought away.

"It is just as well we did not get along," Snape remarked. "Considering the rather complex circumstances. We can't be seen to be on good terms, Harry. Not even after the invocation."

"Yeah, Volde--- the Dark Lord." Harry sighed, because that just about said it all, didn't it? He'd probably have to hide in the dungeons all the time or something. He'd have to pretend he wasn't at Hogwarts at all. Like a ghost that was never seen. He'd end up like Moaning Myrtle, doomed forever to wander only one space. Only he'd have Snape instead of toilets for company. The more he thought about it, the more depressed he got. Because even Myrtle got to take an occasional trip through the pipes, didn't she? All the way down to the lake. Harry wouldn't even have that much. 

If he couldn't be seen then he couldn't go outside at all. Well, short of using his dad's old cloak, but he didn't fool himself that he'd ever get to lay hands on _that_ again. 

And what was he going to _do_ all day long while Snape was off teaching? Actually, that wasn't so hard to figure. Potions involved lots of prep work, after all. He'd probably get stuck eviscerating small creatures and bottling their various body parts, hour after hour, day after day. All alone, in the gloom of the dungeons.

But he wouldn't be alone at night, would he? He wouldn't be alone in bed...

Harry shied off that thought as it occurred to him that sometimes, yes, he _would_ be alone at night, since Death Eater meetings tended to be nocturnal. And of course he'd rather have Snape beside him in bed than have to endure fevered dreams of the Potions Master participating in the horrid rituals Voldemort required from his followers. Harry wondered it he should say again that it wasn't very smart of Snape to continue his spying. In fact, _it_ was brainless, an adjective he'd never associated with Snape before. How were they going to cross powers if Snape ran afoul of Voldemort and got himself killed? And how likely was it that Voldemort wouldn't realise Harry was bonded to Snape, in any case? The damned scar in his forehead was like a conduit, and all the Occluding in the world might not be enough to keep Voldemort out of his mind if Voldemort really wanted in.

Harry knew better than to say anything, though. Snape knew what he thought, and simply didn't care. Harry would just get told to shut it. And if he _didn't_ shut it, Snape might well make him. With a kiss, most likely.

_A kiss, here in the shower, naked bodies pressed together, hot water pouring over them both--_

Needing to get away from that image, Harry said the first thing that crossed his mind. "You know, Dobby really shouldn't bottle his shampoo in glass. There's a reason Muggles use plastic in the shower."

It wasn't a very profound observation, but for all that, Snape fell abruptly silent. Harry couldn't imagine why that was, unless it was because the Potions Master had never heard of plastic. That seemed pretty unlikely. "Spelled unbreakable." Snape finally said, the words strangely intense. Harry couldn't understand it. So the flask was spelled unbreakable, so what? He stopped caring about Snape's odd tone when the man went right on, "Shall I wash your back?"

 _Oh, God._ The man had touched his back dozens of times by then. Massaged it, caressed it, _kissed_ every inch of it, so why did the simple offer of a wash make Harry feel like the floor beneath him was tilting?

 _Because he's right there behind you wearing absolutely nothing,_ his mind very unhelpfully supplied. _Because if you step back just one foot, or even six inches, you'll find yourself up against him while he's wearing absolutely nothing..._

"Uh, sure. Yeah," Harry managed to croak, mostly because he felt sure that refusing the offer would only precipitate a talk about how he ought to be more agreeable to Snape's wishes. He might be allowed to speak his mind, but he was still going to be a slave, and slaves were supposed to be compliant. And he was trying to be what he had to be, he really was.

Hands on his back now, the smooth feel of the soap moving in circles against his shoulder blades. Then palms and fingers, taking over... but this was no massage. It _was_ nothing but a wash, and it was almost perfunctory at that. Over in less than a minute. Obviously, Snape wasn't intent on pushing limits at the moment -- though, come to think of it, both of them standing bare-arsed naked under the streaming water certainly qualified.

As did the question that came next.

"Would you wash my back?"

Harry wasn't so stupid that he couldn't see through _that_. Snape didn't need help. _This_ was nothing but pushing limits, getting Harry to touch him. Without _Sensatus_ this time, presumably.

And Harry had to agree, didn't he? His own wishes were immaterial; Snape had made that blazingly clear just a few minutes before when he'd given Harry to understand that any _privacy_ he might have was to be granted at Snape's whims. And what was he here for but to practice for the invocation, when he'd have to follow Snape's lead? The other man hadn't given him a command, but he'd said often enough that he shouldn't have to issue many. Harry was supposed to know how to take a hint.

 _Would you wash my back_ was one hell of a hint. 

"Sure," Harry said again, trying for a casual tone. He waited until he heard the other man turn around before turning himself, but he was still nervous as he fished for a flannel to use. Snape hadn't bothered with one, but Harry didn't really fancy touching the man's bare back, even if that was what the Potions Master had in mind. 

Soap on wet cloth, cloth on skin.... _it's just skin_ , Harry told himself. _You have it, too._

He didn't have these scars, though. Not even close. Old scars, the slightly raised ridges white with age as they criss-crossed the Potions Master's back. The marks couldn't possibly be painful, but Harry still found himself hesitant to run the cloth across them. Maybe it was seven long years of personal acquaintance with Voldemort trying to reach him through his own scar, but after all that, Harry couldn't help but link scars to pain inside his mind. 

He massaged the cloth along the top of Snape's shoulders, then eased it down a winding path between the ridges.

"They aren't catching," Snape said in a hard tone, the muscles of his back tautening slightly. 

Harry didn't understand the comment until it came to him that Snape thought he was repulsed. The scars weren't attractive, certainly; no-one could deny that, but neither were they so very awful to look at. Or touch, Harry thought. He knew with his rational mind that he wouldn't cause any pain by touching them. And Snape evidently wanted Harry to do it, so...

Dropping the flannel, Harry lathered his hands instead and then settled them atop the very worst of the scars, tracing his palms across the length of the thick, knotted tissue. Snape stiffened even more and drew in a harsh breath, almost as though it _did_ hurt and he was steeling himself to endure it. But that couldn't possibly be the case. 

"Can't these be healed by some sort of potion or other?" Harry heard himself asking. He hadn't meant to say it, really, but some part of him couldn't hold the words back. "I mean, they don't seem like they're curse scars..."

"Leave it," the other man bit out.

Another hint he couldn't miss, though that one actually _had_ been more of a command. Harry mentally shrugged, supposing that he could always save the question for the next time Snape decided he wanted to play that penalty-kiss-guessing-game. Not that Harry knew there ever would be a next time.

Dropping his hands away from the man's back, Harry moved back a bit so that Snape could rinse off. 

All in all, the shower hadn't been as daunting as Harry had expected, but that changed as the Potions Master finished letting water wash over his back and turned around to give his face one last rinse. Harry found himself abruptly looking straight at the man's chest. It shouldn't have startled him so very badly. After all, he'd seen the Snape's bare chest before.

This time, though, he was confronted by the certain knowledge that if he trailed his gaze down, he'd see far more than he wanted. 

_Don't look, don't look, don't look..._ the words spun 'round and 'round inside his mind. But the thing was, the more he tried not to look, the more he felt his own eyes pulled downwards. It was like it wasn't within his conscious control to resist.

 _And anyway,_ a little voice chimed in, _you will have to see him, all of him, sooner or later. _

Harry glanced down. 

And immediately wished he hadn't. 

"Ohmygod," he heard himself say, though he wasn't actually conscious of forming the words, let alone slurring them together like that. 

He took a hasty step backwards, moving so suddenly that he lost his balance, one foot slipping on the slick stone underfoot. He ended up falling straight on his arse in front of Snape, sputtering because he'd inhaled as his face had gone under the stream of water.

A hand reached down to grab his wrist and haul him upright. Harry winced as he stepped on his left ankle. Twisted, he thought, but it wasn't too bad. He shifted his weight to his right leg and wiped at his fringe so water would stop falling into his eyes.

"Are you all right?" 

"Yeah, fine," Harry said, looking over Snape's shoulder. Anything rather than look down again, even if some horribly inquisitive part of his mind was urging him to, urging him to just check and see if it was really true.

Snape placed his hand high up on the stone wall and the water stopped. Well, that explained why he didn't need his wand in the shower, Harry supposed. He concentrated on keeping his gaze at eye level, though that became rather uncomfortable when he realised that Snape was _definitely_ looking him over. Up and down, that dark gaze taking in everything. 

Blushing to the roots of his hair, Harry closed his eyes and braced himself for the inevitable commentary. Because now he knew, didn't he? He had a basis for comparison; he knew he couldn't possibly measure up. Not that he wanted to, of course, but it was still rather nerve-wracking to be found wanting, especially in _that_ department--

"You really are quite fit," he heard the other man say in a low, smooth voice. Harry might even have thought it sounded appreciative, but since that obviously wasn't the case he dismissed that notion. "Is it from Quidditch alone or do you follow some other regimen?"

He felt something soft being pressed into his chest, and realised that Snape was trying to hand him a towel. Harry took it gratefully, wondering all the while why Snape hadn't said the bloody obvious. "Um, Defence class can be pretty strenuous at times. And actually the castle's so big we all get a lot of exercise just going to and fro. And Hagrid's always got us scampering up and down hillsides--"

When it came to him that he was babbling, he cut it out and just concentrated on drying off. Things got so quiet that he opened his eyes to check if he was alone. No such luck. Snape was still there, still staring at him, his dark eyes gleaming even more than before. Harry didn't know what that might mean, but he wrapped the towel around his hips, then used the fingers of one hand to rake his hair away from his face.

He very carefully didn't look down to see if Snape was covered with a towel now, too. 

"Come to bed, now," the other man said, his voice so deep it sent shivers down Harry's spine.


	25. Chapter 25

 

 

** Friday, June 5, 1998 ---- 9:03 p.m. **

Severus was propped up against his pillows, the bedcovers loosely pooled about his hips when Harry finally emerged from the bathroom. The young man looked as though he'd finally tried to dry his dripping hair, but such trivial observations were cut short when Severus noticed the way Harry was limping.

"Why didn't you say you were hurt?" 

Harry sat down on the edge of the bed, both his hands fisted in the towel still slung about his hips. "Because I'm not. It's just a little twinge in my ankle. I'm sure it's nothing."

Severus briefly considered insisting on taking a look, then shelved the idea. Merlin knew, Harry had been injured enough in the past seven years to know whether or not he was seriously hurt. "Get under the covers, then."

The young man slid in, and tugged off his towel without being asked, but fairly hugged the edge of the mattress. Severus put an end to that by wrapping an arm around Harry's chest and pulling him close against him.

Skin against skin, from foot to chest, Harry's body still damp and warm from the shower as he lay with his back pressed against the other man's chest. "Most wizards use drying spells as well as towels, you know," Severus remarked in a casual voice, almost willing the young man to stop holding himself so tensely. It didn't work, of course. He settled a palm atop Harry's hip and using a firm, circular motion, massaged the muscle there. _Fit_ wasn't even the word for it, really. Harry was lean and toned and perfectly proportioned, like a classical statue.

Like a warm, breathing statue with blazing green eyes--

"I told you, drying spells make my hair stick up too much," Harry muttered, shifting restlessly under Severus' caress, though he didn't try to evade it, not truly. 

Severus managed to get his mind off the memory of Harry standing naked before him, hiding nothing... "If you dislike it standing on end, then why not grow it longer?"

"It's plenty long already. I don't want to end up looking like a girl."

Something struck Severus then. Something he really should have realised long before. He knew it intellectually, of course; there was no way he could not. But the implications had always escaped him.

No longer, though. 

Harry Potter had been Muggle-raised, and that meant far more than not realising that elf-glass would of course be spelled unbreakable. It had no doubt influenced his attitudes, his world-view, his entire way of thinking. It was likely woven through his personality in ways that seven mere years couldn't hope to undo.

"Can you name me a single long-haired wizard that remotely resembles a witch, Harry?"

The young man thought it over for a moment before shaking his head. 

"Yet you appear to believe that long hair somehow makes a man effeminate?"

"No, I don't, all right?" Harry made an exasperated sound, then to Severus' shock, actually pushed his hand away and flopped onto his back. He'd grown so used to complacency from Harry... Besides, the young man's physical position now was more vulnerable than before. Harry didn't seem to realise that, though. "I just don't think long hair is right for me. I couldn't say why, really..."

Severus thought he could. He didn't know much at all about Muggles, but it hadn't escaped his notice that he'd never seen a Muggle-born boy arrive at Hogwarts with even shoulder-length hair. Even in later years, when they'd absorbed something of wizarding values, they still didn't tend to let their hair grow long.

_I don't want to end up looking like a girl..._

Severus all of a sudden wished he could tell the young man that there was no chance of that no matter how long he wore his hair. He'd felt Harry's physique several times, first through clothes and then without, and now he'd seen his young, taut body as well... and it was as he had concluded that first Saturday they'd spent together.

Harry Potter was exquisitely masculine.

And if the young man was possessed of some odd beliefs, Severus surmised he must have absorbed them during his childhood with those Muggles. _What was Albus thinking, leaving him with people who would have denied him his magic, of all things? People who taught him their ways instead of ours? And just what ways would those be?_

Severus didn't know, but all at once he decided it would behove him to find out. "Harry... would you describe your Muggle family as traditional?"

Harry's voice emerged annoyed. "One second we're talking about my hair sticking up and the next you're asking about the Dursleys? Oh. Dumbledore told you about my aunt not appreciating it much when my hair would grow back really fast when I was little?"

Severus overlooked the odd conclusion that his query had to do with the headmaster. "No, I was simply realising that you probably acquired a good number of your attitudes during your formative years. So. Would you regard your aunt and uncle as typical Muggles?"

The young man huffed slightly. "Can I refuse that question or is that only allowed if we're actually playing your little game?"

 _He's sensitive about his family._ Severus shouldn't have let it slip his mind. "You can refuse."

"Good," Harry bit out. "Because I don't know as _typical_ really covers it. But you know that already, don't you? Dumbledore told me he'd discussed some things with you, such as the cupboard under the stairs and me not getting much to eat and... I don't know what else, I can't remember."

 _That man and his incessant meddling..._ Snape managed not to grind his teeth, but it was a near thing. "When did you see the headmaster?"

"At lunch today. His idea."

"And?"

"And _what?_ "

"Did you have lemon with your tea! What do you think? I want to know what was discussed."

"It's my private business but seeing as I'm not allowed so much as a private shower..." Harry cleared his throat and started over in a markedly calmer voice. "Most of it wasn't too earth-shattering. He went on for a while about the candidates for the Defence job next year. He wanted my opinion, so I told him to try to hire someone who might last longer than a year. Then near the end he asked how the two of us were getting on, and I said we were all right, and he admitted he'd taken the liberty of talking to you about the Dursleys. And I... well, I got a little bit angry, if you must know."

"A little bit angry," repeated Severus in a doubtful voice.

"You're thinking of what happened when Sirius died," Harry accused. "I didn't wreck his office. All I did was yell until Phineas Nigellus covered his ears. I called him--Dumbledore, that is, not the portrait--a manipulative old bat, but that was after he told me that he wouldn't have spilled about the Dursleys if I'd been honest with you from the start. Anyway, that was about it."

"It sounds quite the conversation."

"Argument, more like." Harry sighed, the memory still clearly a distressing one. "I don't like being gossiped about, all right? If you want to know something I'd rather you just ask me."

Severus decided not to point out that he _had_ asked and been rebuffed. Far better to just move ahead. "Obviously your family had issues with your being magical, but apart from that do you think you were raised with typical Muggle values?"

"Severus, they were only so tight-arsed that they told all the neighbours I attended a school for incurably criminal boys. Does that sound typical to you?"

Severus was rather surprised to hear Harry speaking so freely. He decided not to challenge Albus over the meddling, after all. "They were ashamed enough of your magic to wish to shame _you_ for it, I presume."

"You think?" Shifting restlessly again, though Severus was this time in no way touching him, Harry squirmed in the bed, finally ending up with his hands propped behind his head. Not knowing what else to do, Severus moved back to give him more personal space, and was rewarded for it when Harry felt comfortable enough, apparently, to resume talking. "But that was their hatred of magic at play, which isn't really what you were asking about. Values? I don't know, I never thought about it."

"Harry." Severus waited until the young man tilted his head enough to look at him. In some ways he would have preferred to prompt him again about his family, to encourage more revelations, because he quite clearly sensed that only by understanding the forces that had forged Harry Potter would he ever understand the young man himself... or know best how to deal with him. But another issue was gnawing at his mind, this one far more immediate.

He didn't quite know how to broach it, though. _Assumptions,_ he thought again, hating the certain knowledge that once more he'd been led by them. He was supposed to know better, to think analytically. Potion-making rather required it, and Severus had grown used to staying in that frame of mind for days or weeks on end. But when it came to dealing with Harry, he'd never been able to maintain his logic, not from that first day when he'd seen him in class and had been so forcefully reminded of his utter loathing for James.

_After all, Severus, you did know that he wasn't actually James._

The Potions Master grimaced. He _had_ known that, but only with the analytical part of his mind... the part that had ceased to exist whenever he was within fifty paces of Harry Potter. The other part... the hurt, angry, adolescent part had looked at Harry and seen nothing _but_ James, time and again. 

Only now was he finally realising the truth. Not only was Harry Potter _not_ his father, he was in fact not even very much like him. He couldn't possibly be like James; he hadn't been brought up to expect wealth and privilege and adulation. _Made to sleep in a cupboard... they never took you shopping at all, did they... casting Hogwarts as a school for hooligans, of all things..._

Severus had long believed Potter possessed of an insatiable conceit that while still an infant, he had managed to vanquish the Dark Lord. He'd imagined him praised and coddled year after year, his relatives brimming with pride to be raising such a pint-sized marvel. _Assumptions,_ all of it. Harry couldn't possibly have seen himself the way the wizarding world saw him. All through those long years, the boy hadn't even known he was a wizard.

Which brought Severus full circle back to the other things Harry might still not know.

"Ah... given your rather unusual childhood... by wizarding standards, I mean to say--"

"I'm hardly the first wizard with a Muggle family," Harry interrupted, moving to sit up slightly more.

"To my knowledge you are the only old-bloodline Muggle-raisedwizard Hogwarts has ever seen. Therefore--"

"Old-bloodline?" Harry furrowed his brow. "How old?"

Severus shoved up on his palms to gain height on the young man. "Will you kindly stop these incessant interruptions? I'd like to finish my question before you turn nineteen, if you don't mind!"

Harry raised an eyebrow and waited in silence, then, that eyebrow only going higher when Severus proceeded to hesitate.

"So. Given your unusual upbringing, I was saying, it occurs to me that you might not know as much about sexual relations as I had assumed. I therefore would like to know how much you truly understand about--"

"Sorry to _interrupt_ ," Harry broke in, sounding anything but. "Are you... er... Severus, are you blushing?"

"No, I'm bloody well not blushing!" 

"Looks it."

"I am endeavouring to spare your sensibilities!"

"Oh," Harry said, sounding thoughtful. "Hmm. Well, that's decent of you. But considering last time you really wanted to know something you used Legilimency, maybe it's better if you ask and I answer."

 _Perhaps your Legilimency needs honing, Severus. I can't think you've been in Harry's mind at all, the way you speak..._ The rebuke hadn't stung when Albus had first delivered it, but now, it did. How _could_ he have sifted through Harry's mind at such great length without coming to understand the first thing about him?

 _Because I didn't want to understand him,_ Severus admitted, frowning _. I wanted my illusions. I needed them, needed to believe that the son was the father. I never once saw him for himself, because I never once tried. And even after he came down here to work towards the invocation with me, even after I started calling him Harry instead of Potter, I still didn't appreciate who he really was. Someone who thinks of others instead of himself. Someone willing to surrender himself..._

_James would have told the whole world to burn in hell before he'd have let me lay a finger on him._

_Not so Harry...._

Which brought Severus right back to the question he'd been trying to ask. Probably best to ask it outright. "Harry, listen to me. When I wrote the précis I believed you to be a young man with several dozen notches on his broomstick. But you're very much the innocent, in a sexual sense at least, and considering your upbringing... I want to know if you understand what we will need to do together."

Harry's forehead creased. "You mean to invoke? Well, no, I don't, since you've been so careful not to tell me. But I've figured a lot of it out, I think. You said that the _witnessed phase_ of the invocation demanded pleasure, not culmination. But you were so insistent I learn to... um, you know, climax with you that I think that must be important for the seventeenth. And since the witnesses don't have to stay for the ritual bath... I'm assuming you have to make me... _um,_ culminate, in the bath with you."

Severus nodded. "Yes. Quite."

A weak smile ghosted across Harry's lips. "I wasn't sure you'd be willing to confirm it, even. But... I feel better knowing instead of wondering, so thanks."

Severus thought better than to say _you're welcome._ He hadn't done anything to be thanked for, after all. He should have told Harry weeks ago just what the invocation required from him sexually. He'd held off discussing it, telling himself that it was _valuable for Harry to learn to follow his lead,_ but he now saw that rationale for the shallow justification it was. Harry _had_ been following his lead, all along. Harry had more than demonstrated that he was determined to cooperate with _Podentes,_ and by extension, with Severus himself. He didn't need to be manipulated into compliance.

He'd already surrendered.

And Severus, like a perfect idiot, hadn't even noticed.

It was too late to rectify that, of course. What was done was done. It wasn't too late, however, to make amends. "If you feel better knowing that small detail, perhaps I should clarify matters further."

Harry's gaze snapped up at that. "Really?"

"The ritual bath requires you to climax three times to my touch."

He saw the young man swallow. " _Three?_ "

"Be grateful it's not seven. Or twelve," Severus advised, his lips curling slightly. "Those numbers have magical significance as well, you know."

"Yeah, I know, but..."

"It's not so very much. I dare say you've pleasured yourself twice in one night before, yes?"

Twin spots of colour blazed in Harry's cheeks as he muttered, "Yeah, well not for a while. And usually I'd get sleepy enough after just once to drop off, so..."

"Hmm, well we have all night if need be. You'll rest in between while I hold you... we'll pass the time talking until you're ready for intimacies to resume."

"I thought I couldn't talk after I signed the contract until... oh, until the witnesses leave, right. So I guess this means you aren't going to have them stay to watch the ritual bath like you threatened?"

Severus managed not to wince at the question, though he certainly didn't feel proud of having threatened a thing like that, and to a young man with virtually no sexual experience. "No. We will be alone." 

Harry drew in a deep breath as though attempting to consciously relax, but his tone was still a bit anxious as he pressed, "Is that it, then? Three times sort of like we've done already, only we'll be in the water for them, and then we go to sleep? Or is there something else I should know? Like, uh... not sure you'll tell me this but I really would rather be prepared to face it. Um, do _you_ have to come for us to invoke?"

"No. In fact the potion I drink will rather rule it out, as the invocation truly is about things other than the master wizard's pleasure." He felt a niggling irritation at the clear relief written across Harry's face, but at least this time he recognised the feeling for what it was. He kept his voice carefully level as he went on. "However, my own pleasure can't be forestalled forever. Before your birthday--well before I should think--we must unbind the Dark Lord's magic from my own so that it can merge into your powers. Do you understand exactly how the transfer must take place? There is only one way."

The young man stiffened his shoulders. "Yeah, I got it. Don't worry. I know you said force couldn't play any part in all this, but it's not like I'm going to say _no_ , is it now? I know I'm stuck."

"I want to be certain you're cognizant of what you'll be saying _yes_ to," Severus announced, determined to be as explicit as needed. Better that than allow Harry to misunderstand.

As it turned out, however, he'd already been every bit as explicit as needed.

"Oh, I'm cognizant, all right." Harry all but gritted his teeth as he went on, "You told me on our very first night getting acquainted that I didn't have to find men attractive in order to _spread my legs and take it up the arse._ Cleared it right up, Severus."

Severus set his jaw. He'd forgotten that he'd said that, and in such appallingly crude terms. How could he have handled things so badly? 

_Because you wanted to shock him,_ his memory unhelpfully supplied. _And what is more, you wanted to hurt him. You were angry to have him thrust upon you, and it didn't help that you believed him involved with Hermione Granger. You probably told Harry to give her up not_ _to break through that disturbing passivity but because you were irritated that he didn't find you the least bit attractive._

Severus abruptly commanded his memory to shut up.

"That remark was crass and I apologise," he ground out, sounding anything but gracious about it. That couldn't be helped, though. He rarely apologised and certainly never to students. Harry Potter, though, wasn't his student any longer. In less than a week, he wouldn't be a student at all, in fact. "Did you know before you came to talk to me what would be involved?"

Folding his arms in front of his chest, Harry gave a little shrug. "What does it matter? I know now."

Considering that Severus had just unbent enough to apologise, the young man's attitude was rather irksome. Severus somehow managed to hold to his temper, however. " _Did_ you know?"

Harry glared, but Severus chalked that up to discomfort with the subject matter. At least he answered. "Yes. The précis was all about me having to meet your sexual needs, after all, and it said I'd have to take your _essence_ into my body, and given as we're both men? It doesn't take a hell of a lot of brains to figure the whole thing out." Harry sighed, his glare dying in the moment before he looked away completely. "Look, as long as we're speaking plainly I guess I should tell you that... um, well I don't guess it's any secret I'm not exactly looking forward to your _doing_ that to me _,_ but after seeing you in the shower..."

"Yes?"

The young man fisted his hands in the bedcovers, his fingers going white with stress. "Shite. I'm not a terrified virgin, all right? Or if I am, that's not what this is about. I mean, I've faced some pretty awful things in my life, so it's not like I'm going to faint or run away screaming, but I still think it's worth mentioning..."

Severus moved his fingers to Harry's chin and turned the young man's face towards him. "What are you trying to say?" 

That question had a fresh wave of heat coursing through the young man's skin. "Um. I _saw_ you. I was trying not to, but I did. And I've been sharing showers for ages. I don't _look_ , all right, but I do know what your average bloke's got going on downstairs. And well, you... uh, I can't help but think you're a bit outside the normal range, all right?"

It took Severus a moment to make sense of that, and another moment to put it together with Harry's abrupt fall in the shower. The young man hadn't merely slipped; Severus saw that now. He'd been shocked. 

"You're speaking of size?"

"Well, yeah," Harry muttered, his whole body radiating defensiveness. "Listen, don't take this wrong, because I'm _not_ some simpering ninny who can't face the thought. It's not like that. It's _nothing_ like that! I'll let you shove it in me. I'll let you do it every night if that's what it takes to cross our powers. I'm not afraid of pain... I just hope you plan to have some healing potion on hand, that's all I'm saying, because you're way too big to... uh, fit."

There were so many misconceptions in Harry's speech that Severus wasn't certain what to untangle first. No, that wasn't really true. He knew full well that he should start with what was obviously the young man's greatest worry, and work outwards from there. 

"You aren't going to need a healing potion." Severus took another moment to assemble his thoughts. "Harry, your... _ah_ , concerns are probably only to be expected, but do you recall my telling you that I did know how to pleasure a man?" He waited until Harry had nodded, then went on in the kindest voice he could dredge up. "You must realise by now that I wasn't exaggerating."

The young man closed his eyes as though he found admitting it rather painful. "Yeah, I _realise._ You know what you're about, which is just as well, considering. But that's not what I'm talking about and you know it. The fact that you can... uh, bring me off isn't going to help much with this other thing. I frankly don't see how I could manage to _not_ get pretty badly hurt, letting you..."

Severus carded his fingers through the young man's still-damp hair and wished he knew what to say. Quite likely there was nothing that could truly ease this kind of fear... nothing but the final act which would prove the fears groundless. Nevertheless, he had to say something; the worst course of action would be to let Harry's worries fester. 

"Contrary to your claim, I am not outside the normal range," he said, resisting an impulse to smile as the situation truly wasn't amusing. "I'm simply a tall man with correspondingly larger body parts."

"Oh, just give it _up_ ," Harry said in a scornful tone, opening blazing eyes, then batting Severus' hand away from his scalp. "You're hung like a... Well, I wouldn't really know, would I? But I did notice that you weren't even hard there in the shower, and _that_ looked like more than I could safely take. And seeing as you're only going to get bigger when the time comes... well there's a _limit_ , that's all. Not to be crude, but I know what can fit up in there."

Severus hesitated for a moment, then reached over to pull the young man to lean against him. Cheek on chest. Very nice, even if Harry held himself far too stiffly. "I'm certain the idea seems daunting, probably more so now than before--"

"Yeah, _probably_ ," Harry muttered.

Severus rubbed slow circles across Harry's shoulder blades, though it didn't seem to him that the young man even noticed. He certainly didn't relax. "But I know what I'm about, as you put it. I've never injured a lover of mine yet."

The young man made a sort of choking noise. "Oh. Well, isn't that nice for you. But since I'm destined to be anything but your lover..."

Severus went still. "What exactly do you expect to be?"

He could feel Harry clenching his jaw as he lay there. "What you said. Catamite. Slave. _Property_."

 _Cool disinterest,_ Severus suddenly realised, had probably done more harm than good if it had got Harry thinking he'd be nothing but a slave. That would hardly do. _Cambiare Podentes_ had been designed with lovers in mind, after all. And if Harry didn't recognise that they were in fact just that, it could spell ruin for the invocation. 

Sliding down in the bed, Severus put his face on a level with Harry's and spoke softly against his mouth. "Apparently you haven't noticed this, but we happen to be lovers already."

Harry jerked his face to the side. "We're not!"

"Indeed we are. What would you call what we've been doing night after night?"

"We've just been... you know, fooling around some. We haven't been doing _it_."

Reaching a hand around the young man's neck, Severus drew Harry's lips to his and kissed him, long and slow. Harry didn't respond, which wasn't too surprising, but Severus just kept kissing him, his fingers stroking lightly against the young man's jaw and neck until finally, Harry relaxed and gave in.

"Your definitions need a bit of work," Severus softly told him when they broke apart, Harry panting slightly, his face flushed... but not so much with embarrassment, this time. It was arousal, and Severus didn't need to move a hand downward to know that Harry would be in need, now. It was all there in the luminous green of his eyes. "There are many, many ways of making love, Harry. To hold you entwined in my arms while my touch brings you shuddering to release... To have you come so sharp and sweet that you mark _me..._ " Severus moved long fingers toward the lingering traces of that bite to his shoulder. "We're most assuredly lovers."

"You..." Harry waved a hand about rather randomly, a nervous gesture betraying his unease, even as his cheeks flushed anew. "I meant to say sorry for the bite thing, actually."

"No need." Severus kept his lips from twitching, though it was a challenge when confronted by such naiveté. "I enjoyed it."

"You _enjoyed_ it?"

Harry's tone was so astonished that Severus couldn't help but smile, after all. "Mmm. Immensely, Harry. I'm attracted to men, remember? The sight and sound and feel of a lover's pleasure is very enjoyable indeed. Especially when it is expressed with such... wholehearted abandon." He shrugged when Harry still appeared rather astounded. "I told you that a little pain could be erotic. Emphasis on _little_ , Harry. Your concerns about my size causing you injury are not realistic."

Harry looked rather sceptical of that, but left it aside to pursue something else that had evidently weighed on his mind. "Realistic is the fact that _Podentes_ is full of dark magic and might well make you violent. That's what you said, isn't it?"

Apparently every heartless thing he'd said to Harry was going to come back to haunt him, Severus thought. "When I said that, I was frankly anticipating your fighting me every step of the way," he admitted, knowing that his flawed assumptions had been the real impetus for those dire predictions. "I expected that if you agreed to undertake _Cambiare Podentes_ at all, you'd be arrogant enough to think you could force the magic serve your ends. I was trying to frighten you into taking _Podentes_ seriously."

"But you weren't lying, were you?" Harry pressed, clearly still worried. "The dark magic _could_ affect how you treat me."

"I've been studying the potions that form part of the invocation. I strongly suspect the worst my draught will do is make me experience a sense of ownership. I'll feel that you're mine."

"Yeah, yours. To treat however you like."

"To protect," Severus said, leaning in for another kiss, though this time he didn't linger. "That was the original purpose of _Podentes_ , you realise. Imagine that you actually _were_ this very weak wizard the rite was designed to help. You've turned to your lover and invoked the spell. Until the power exchange began to freely flow, who _would_ safeguard you? You would still be weak. But the master wizard to whom you had entrusted yourself would, by virtue of the rite, have both the magical and legal means to keep you secure."

Harry shifted back, away from him, his green eyes dark with thought. "What magical means?"

"The mind-bond..." Severus gave a slight shrug. "The literature is vastly incomplete, as I believe I mentioned."

"None of that will make it impossible for you to beat me silly, or throw _Cruciatus_ around when I start to annoy you, which, let's face it, is pretty much inevitable."

"No, it won't," Severus admitted, knowing that he had to be truthful about the matter. "However, I can't imagine that such actions on my part would facilitate the crossing of powers, which you understand _is_ the point of all this. Do you not trust me to keep that uppermost in mind no matter what the provocation?"

"I do and I don't," Harry said, sighing. "It's hard for me, but I know you've been trying to make things bearable, just like you said that time after... um, the Potions lesson from hell."

"The Potions lesson from hell," Severus repeated, diverted despite a feeling that he oughtn't to be. Harry wasn't his student any longer though, so perhaps it was all right to smile at the insulting phrase. "Well. I will admit I should not have attempted to teach you when I was feeling frankly resentful that Miss Granger had thrust the obligation upon me. Quite likely, I should not have attempted to teach you that subject at all. As you so eloquently understated, you and I and Potions are not a good mix. I will endeavour to remember that in future."

He saw Harry blink in surprise. "You aren't going to make me learn Advanced Potions?"

"I frankly doubt at this juncture that I _could_ make you. I'm well aware that you're not... apprentice material, shall we say." 

Harry's eyes began to sparkle with elation. "Oh God, what a relief! I thought I'd have to spend days at a time straining leech puree, or stirring fifty times counter-clockwise, fifty times clockwise... you mean I won't? Really? You promise?"

"I can't _promise_ ," Severus said, a little bit disheartened by the weight of the constraints binding him. "No more than I could make promises about your Galleons, Harry. If you kneel before me on the seventeenth willing to accept your slavery only because I've guaranteed you this condition or that--"

"The spell'll know, yeah." Harry sat up and plumped his pillow rather forcefully. "Unconditional surrender."

"Exactly. You must be prepared to accept any eventuality."

Harry made a face as he flopped back down and stared up at the stone ceiling. "Even Potions."

He made it sound like a fate worse than death. Taking one of Harry's hands in his, Severus laced their fingers together. "Even Potions. Now, to resume our earlier discussion. I do indeed wish to make _Podentes_ bearable for you--"

"Yeah, I know. You've been better about it than I expected. A lot better."

Considering the inept way he'd handled Harry from the start, Severus could only surmise that the young man had to have been expecting something truly horrific. It didn't please Severus that his behaviour could be regarded as favourable only when compared to how Lucius Malfoy, for example, would have approached _Podentes_. 

Sighing, Severus resolved to leave his old assumptions and preconceptions aside, finally, and deal with Harry as Harry. Not as James, or as the Boy Who Lived. Not as an arrogant celebrity who thought himself above the rules.

Just... Harry.

And Harry, he knew, was worried.

"Given your concerns about... _ah,_ what my size may entail, I have a suggestion to proffer."

When those green eyes assessed him, Severus wished he knew what the young man was thinking.

"Well? Go on, suggest," Harry finally said.

"I think you would feel less nervous if you had some experience of what it is like to have attentions paid to that part of your anatomy."

"My bum, I think you mean?" Harry, Severus was perturbed to notice, had turned slightly grey. "What do you want to do to me?"

"It might be easier to simply show you," Severus murmured, thinking that he didn't particularly care to embarrass the young man. 

"What happened to _there's value in plain speaking?_ "

"As you wish," Severus conceded with a slight smile. "I thought it might be good to engage in a little stretching play. I'll use my fingers so you can accustom yourself to the sensations involved in that kind of lovemaking. I hadn't planned to proceed to that until after we'd invoked, but as you're apprehensive..."

Interesting how the young man could look so horrified when he, after all, was the one who had demanded to hear it put into words. "You want to stick your _fingers_ up inside my _bum?_ " he said, nervous laughter threatening to strangle him.

"It's quite a common way to begin. You may find it... strange at first, but it won't be unpleasant--"

"Severus," Harry interrupted, clearing his throat. "I... are you _mental?_ I'm worried about size! Your _finger...!_ "

"Plural," Severus stressed, buoyed by the simple fact that Harry was apparently up to discussing the matter. That boded well, even if the stress-reducing shampoo had a hand in it. "There will still be a disparity in size, but believe me, Harry, the experience of feeling my fingers inside you will help you understand how your body can relax and stretch to accommodate mine."

"I can't believe we're even talking a thing like that over _._ " 

"Are you declining?"

That earned him a quick look.

"Am I _allowed_ to?"

"Eventually, no," Severus admitted, frowning. "I won't take you without making sure you're ready, so this will have to be part of our lovemaking sooner or later. But if you'd prefer, we can certainly wait until after the invocation."

He fully expected Harry to say that in that case, they'd wait. 

Instead, the young man chewed his lip for a while. "Um. I don't know. I mean... can I have some time to think about it?"

Severus gave a short nod, then thinking they'd had enough talk for one evening, pulled the young man into his arms and proceeded to show him in no uncertain terms that no matter how much remained for them to explore, they were most definitely lovers already. Harry didn't bite him again, but perhaps that was because Severus didn't allow him any _Sensatus_. His inhibitions weren't completely unhinged... but Severus sensed that they were hanging by a thread.

Harry fairly _pulsed_ with passion as he pressed his face into his own arm and came, breathy gasping moans escaping his lips to drift through the cool dungeon air surrounding them. Severus nuzzled the back of Harry's neck, one arm wrapped securely around his chest while his other hand wrung every last drop of pleasure from the young man's body.

Afterwards, he held him close, tucking Harry's backside firmly against his own bare skin as they lay on their sides. Harry didn't object, not while caught in the lull of the afterglow. And not after it had faded, either. He wasn't quite sleeping in Severus' arms, but he wasn't far off, either.

Severus, in contrast, was wide awake. 

And in torment, though the potion he'd taken earlier did ensure that there was no physical manifestation of his need. It didn't stop him from aching, even though he was enough of a Potions Master to know that the ache was primarily mental. 

Knowing that was very little solace, Severus decided. It was still an ache, a _need_ , and he longed to vent it, to yank the young man onto his back and cover his body with his own and kiss him until he moaned for Severus to take him--

Instead, he simply held Harry and let him rest, listening as his breathing slowed to almost nothing. Then, carefully shifting position so as not to jar him, he lifted his sticky hand and inhaled the scent of Harry's young passion, his tongue lapping out to taste it...

And that was his undoing; Severus was the one who moaned, low and deep in his throat, wanting more. Wanting it all. 

Irritated, the Potions Master flung himself out of bed and stalked naked across the room to a shallow drawer where he kept the antidote to the impotence potion he'd been using throughout the past few weeks. There was only so much a man could endure, he darkly thought as he swigged it down and felt magic sweeping through him to nullify the other potion. His own arousal rose up, the sensation magnificent after so much repressed need.

A slight noise from the bed had him realising that not only was he standing there starkers, he would now present _quite_ a sight, especially considering Harry's earlier panic over size. 

But the noise wasn't Harry waking up; it was the sound of the young man turning over in bed to burrow more fully into the covers.

Severus wasted no time in getting into the shower where he felt free to leisurely stroke and caress himself to completion. Except, it wasn't leisurely at all. It was hot and fierce and pounding, the way he wanted Harry. It was over in less than a minute, almost as though Severus was the one who was eighteen and randy and without the slightest trace of self-control.

He wrapped a towel about his hips before going back out to the bedroom.

Harry Potter was sleeping in his bed, sleeping so soundly that Severus hated to wake him. He wanted him there, the Potions Master abruptly realised. There was simply something.... _right_ , about it, but that was as it should be. Harry was his lover. Harry was _his_.

Severus knew then and there that he didn't need a potion to make him feel possessive over Harry Potter.

Still, his own growing affinity for the young man was hardly relevant in the circumstances. Harry couldn't stay the night, not while his friends were still living in the Tower.

Shaking him awake, Severus sent the groggy young man back to where he belonged, then lay back in bed himself, and counted the days that remained until the seventeenth.


	26. Chapter 26

 

 

** Saturday, June 6, 1998 ---- 8:11 a.m. **

"Thought we might try to get one last Quidditch match going this morning," said Ron as he helped himself to a second muffin. "You up for it, Harry?"

Harry drank some juice before he answered. "I don't think so."

Ron grinned. "Aw, sure you are. Just ask her to come watch. You know we're pretty keen to meet her, don't you?"

Harry hid his grimace. Ron's insistence that Harry must have a secret girlfriend was really getting old, but since it was better for him to think that than discover the truth, Harry couldn't be too vehement in his denials. "Sorry, mate. I've got stuff to do."

"The term's all but over! What could you have to do?" Ron's voice took on a wheedling tone. "Come on, she can sit by Hermione, who'll promise to say nothing but good things about you, right?"

 _Wrong_. "It's not a good day for Quidditch--"

"Are you nutters? The weather's perfect!" Apparently abandoning the idea, however, Ron pressed, "Well, how about the three of us have a picnic or something?"

"Ronald, it's a bit much to plan lunch while we're still eating our breakfast." Hermione made a slight show of sighing.

"We hardly ever see Harry, and it's our last weekend here--"

"I know, I know, the timing's lousy," Harry interrupted. "But I actually have to study this morning. Um, Potions N.E.W.T. See, Dumbledore's been working on getting the Ministry to let me re-sit the practical after all and I need some emergency revision in the worst way. Hermione, can you help me? You're welcome to join us, Ron."

Ron made a gagging sound. "No. No way. I'm done with exams, and anyway, _Potions?_ There's a reason I dropped it two years ago." Then he added, in tones a bit more contrite, "I'd help you if I could, you know that, even if it is a hell of a way to spend a Saturday. If you really want to pass that practical, though, Hermione's your best bet."

"I know." Harry scooped up one last bite of egg, then pushed his plate away. "You go ahead and organise that match. I'd give anything to come play; I'm going to miss being Seeker, really miss it." He sighed, wondering what Snape had meant with that _Quidditch has its uses_ comment, let alone the _did you think I'd forbid it_ remark. Hell yes, he'd thought Snape would forbid it. He still sort of thought that, no matter what the man had said.

And that was leaving aside the fact that he was going to have to give away his Firebolt. 

Well, maybe Snape would let him use it once in a while. If Harry was a good little slave, that was... _ugh._

"I still think you're good enough to go professional, Harry," Ron was saying as he slathered a generous dollop of butter across what remained of his muffin. "Any team would be glad to get you--"

Harry glared.

"Because you'd catch the Snitch!" Ron cracked a grin. "I know, I know, the name thing would be a draw too, but all _I_ meant was that teams like to win, so of course they'd love to have you."

Mollified, Harry shrugged. "I'd love to keep on playing, but it's just not possible. Makes me too vulnerable a target. Hogwarts is pretty well controlled but can you imagine the safeguards a professional stadium would need to keep out Death Eaters?" 

"Yeah," Ron sympathised. "Anyway, it'd be sort of shallow if you _did_ want a career as a Seeker, considering we need Aurors like never before. So you go study with Hermione and get ready for your Potions test. I'm sure you'll do fine this time."

A sharp pain coursed through Harry, but he forced himself to ignore it. Auror was beyond his reach, and that was that. _No bouts of maudlin pity for things that can't be helped..._ "Ready?" he asked Hermione as he shoved back the bench and stood up.

She grabbed a peach from the bowl on the table as she nodded, then walked from the Great Hall with him, her step fairly bouncing with delight. "That's great news about your N.E.W.T, Harry! I didn't know the Ministry allowed retakes--"

Harry drew her away from the main corridor and spoke low against her ear. "They don't. Well, not that I know of, anyway. That was just so I could get you alone. I need to talk to you."

Hermione's eyebrows drew together, her lightning intelligence rapidly forming a conclusion. "Oh. About... anything, I expect."

_You can talk to me about anything, Harry..._

Harry sighed. He really, really didn't want to discuss this with her. But he needed advice, and just where was he supposed to go for some? To a man old enough to be his great-great-great-great grandfather? To a _ghost?_ Or worse, to the man who in just over a week would literally own him? 

Hermione was all he had.

"Yeah, anything," he echoed, the word hanging significantly between them. "Let's head out to the big craggy rock again."

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, June 6, 1998 ---- 8:37 a.m. **

"Ron was right. It is really nice out," Hermione said, stretching out her legs. Kicking off her shoes, she wiggled her toes in the long grass. "Too bad we can't have that picnic."

Harry grimaced as he sat there cross-legged. "Love to. But I have to meet Snape at ten."

"So... how's that all going?"

Her quiet voice was almost his undoing. Harry had to swallow hard to keep from blurting out how... _confused_ he was starting to get about everything. Severus Snape was a terrible person; Harry knew that. He knew it better than most. But he wasn't being so very terrible these days, which made Harry feel sort of like he was swimming through quicksand. And that wasn't even counting the fact that he was learning to really, really like what Snape could do to him in bed.

 _It's just physiology_ , he told himself. 

"It's going all right, I guess," he said, wondering where to begin. "I mean, ever since he said I could talk to you again, he's been sort of... calm with me. It turns out he thought I'd had... um, this long string of girlfriends or something. He thought I'd done a lot more than just kiss with a girl, if you catch my meaning."

Hermione laughed, just a little, covering her mouth. "Oh. Do you think he really thought, um... you and me? That time in the hallway after we heard Binns explain the spell, well, the next day in class he was pretty rude about it." 

"Yeah, he was. I thought he was just being a bastard for the hell of it." Harry lay back in the grass and watched the clouds drifting through the sky. "But it turns out, he actually did believe it. Anyway, after we got _that_ cleared up things started to get a little better."

"But how could he have thought you were some sort of Casanova?" asked Hermione, laying back too and then rolling onto her side to face him. "You haven't even dated since Cho. I could understand it, I guess, if Snape were the kind of person to not notice what goes on around him. But he's really observant! He has to be, considering--"

"Don't say it," Harry warned before she could mention Snape's spying. "I put up my best wards but still..."

"Right. It still strikes me as odd that Snape could even think you were... er, experienced, but who knows, maybe _he_ was at our age, so he sort of assumes everybody is, or something."

They fell silent for a while. Harry watched the drifting clouds and tried his best not to think. Because if he started thinking, he'd have to figure out how to broach the subject of _fingers_ with Hermione, and there really wasn't any good way, was there? It was his decision to make, anyway. Hermione wouldn't want to know about a nasty thing like that--

"Harry," her soft voice broke into his musings and as he looked up he realised she had cast _Tempus._ Ghostly numbers hung like fog in the air until she swiped a hand across them. "It's gone half-nine. Did you want to talk about... er, anything?"

"I did, but... it's sort of awkward."

Hermione smiled. "I'm sure. But it's all right, whatever it is, honest. I really did mean it when I said you could tell me anything. In my family we're pretty open about all that. I mean, my mum explained all about how babies were made when I was only six years old. And one of my older cousins is gay, and we were always really close. So really, Harry. You can tell me anything at all."

Harry stiffened. "Are you trying to say you think I'm gay, Hermione? Because I'm _not._ What even makes you think that? The fact that I don't have a string of conquests?"

"Harry, I don't think that!" said Hermione. "I just meant... look, whatever's going on, I doubt you could shock me. All right?"

"All right," said Harry. He couldn't help it if he still sounded a bit grudging. In his family, people just didn't talk about things like sex. But he didn't want to get into all that. Knowing Hermione, she'd would want to know where he _had_ learned about it, and when she found out it was mostly gossip and magazines she'd probably take it upon herself to explain some things. "Listen, maybe this was a mistake. I don't think I can talk about it after all--"

Hermione, though, wasn't about to let him get away with that. "Oh, come on, Harry! Sure you can. Tell you what... why don't you close your eyes, and suck in a big breath, and then as you exhale, just say it, whatever it is. Don't try to plan what words to use or fret about what I'll think or anything. Just... blurt it out."

"I..."

"Don't think," Hermione advised. "Big breath."

So Harry tried. He clenched his eyes shut, and tried to clear his mind as best he could, though he didn't truly Occlude. One huge rush of air into his lungs, the draught hovering there, and then as he let it all out, he opened his mouth and tried to let his tongue do the work his mind had been so reluctant to do. 

But what his mouth decided to say was startling, to say the least.

"Snape claims we're lovers--" Hearing himself, Harry groaned and rolled over onto his stomach so he could hide his head in his hands. "That wasn't what I needed to talk to you about, Hermione."

"Hmm, well it must have been on your mind, though, to come spilling out like that."

She didn't sound shocked. Chancing a glance at her, he thought she didn't look horrified, either. Harry appreciated that, even if he didn't understand it. 

"So... um..." Harry took another deep breath and started over, though this time he didn't employ the _just-blurt-it-out_ method. "I... I couldn't believe he'd say a thing like that. It's bloody ridiculous! We _aren't_ lovers, honest!"

Hermione frowned. "Maybe Snape said it to get you started thinking of him that way? The précis said the spell was for lovers, so he thinks it's best if you regard him as yours?"

Harry thought back, hearing inside his mind that deep, smooth voice, feeling again that sweep of cool hair against his shoulder as Snape leaned close to speak. _To have you come so sharp and sweet that you mark me..._ Shivering in remembrance, Harry suddenly sat up again and tried to rub away the goose bumps rising on his arms. "He meant it, I'm pretty sure."

At that, Hermione gave what Harry could only think of as a pitying look. "You're sure he's not just manipulating you? He's a Slytherin, Harry. You might not see it coming."

"It's not like that." Harry sighed. "The truth is, he touches me a lot, and... well, he's _good_ at it, Hermione." He thought of mentioning _Sensatus_ , then decided it would only make him sound like he had to have a spell to blame things on. He wasn't that pathetic. He could face the facts that defined his life, even if his cheeks did feel awfully hot as he admitted, "I'd never have guessed... but anyway, he touches me and I can't help but respond in... a certain way. And see, all along I've pretty much assumed Snape thought it was disgusting I didn't have more self-control. But um, he told me last night that he _enjoys_ it. And guess what? He didn't mean something snide, like that it gives him lots more reason to call me an idiot. He meant that he really thinks it's... uh, hot, I guess. Though I know that's hard to believe--"

Hermione had gone from open-mouthed to _covering_ her mouth to just plain wide-eyed, but in the end she glared. "Hard to believe? What do you think you are, chopped liver?"

"Huh?"

"Harry..." Hermione took a deep breath then, making Harry wonder if she was preparing to blurt out whatever was on her mind. But when she spoke it was more controlled than that. "You're very easy on the eyes, you know. And, well look. I didn't ask this before because I didn't think you'd want to get into it, but the way you talk now, I think Snape must like men, right?" She didn't stop for an answer. "So it's not manipulation, then. You're a good-looking man, and he's touching you, and you're responding, so of course he thinks it's hot!"

"Yeah," Harry said, his voice thick. Felt like his tongue was stuck in his throat, actually. "Probably it's just because I'm... you know, male. We've never heard of Snape dating or anything so you have to think he just doesn't, except maybe in the summer, so by now he must be so hard up he'd probably find Crabbe attractive, too. Wait, I said that wrong. I meant, he's _not_ attracted to me. Anybody with the right equipment would do just as well." That made sense, and left Harry feeling quite a bit better about Snape's sensuous claims the night before. After all, what he'd _enjoyed_ so very much had been Harry's orgasm, not Harry. So that was all right. Snape just liked the dangly bits.

"Harry, it sounds like he _is_ attracted to you. And that's a good thing, isn't it, considering you have to be with him? It's a lot better than him hating you."

"He still hates me," Harry argued. 

"Harry, he's calling you his lover--"

"He didn't call me his lover; he said _we_ were lovers," Harry hedged. "And anyway, he's got it wrong. _Lovers,_ my arse. Literally. I mean, I think I'd have noticed if we'd crossed that line."

Pushing up on an arm, Hermione considered that, her eyes lost in thought. " But Snape seems to think you _are_ lovers, Harry."

"Yeah." Harry scowled. "He told me my _definitions_ needed work--"

"Maybe they do," she calmly interrupted, brushing hair away from her face as she pushed the rest of the way up and sat facing him. 

"Oh, please. How can we be lovers when we've never had sex?"

"But what is sex?" Hermione lifted an eyebrow, even as Harry blushed and looked away. "Obviously he's done _something_ with you that he thinks qualifies, Harry. Look, think about it the way you're used to. Is sex between a man and a woman is only one particular act?"

"Well, _yeah,_ " Harry drawled, shaking his head as though the question was pretty stupid.

"Really," said Hermione. "So if I can't get pregnant doing it, it's not sex?"

"Uh... well I guess there's more ways than just that..."

 _Many, many ways,_ Harry heard that deep voice say.

"Then whatever you've done so far must be one _of_ them, as far as he's concerned." Hermione shrugged ever so slightly. "I'm not sure why it bothers you that he said it, Harry. That's just his way of thinking. It's not like you have to agree. Besides, you didn't sound like he said it in a hurtful way. Honestly, it seemed more like he was trying to help you adjust. That's better than the alternative, I would think."

"You're awfully cold-hearted!" Harry exclaimed, glaring. "Better than the alternative. Just how open _was_ your family? Because you don't seem to get what I'm going to be stuck doing! With him! For the rest of my effing life! It's... _icky_ , Hermione! And disgusting! And--"

Hermione's soft hands were suddenly covering his own, and squeezing. "Oh, Harry. Do you really think so?"

"Well, _duh,_ " he snarled, yanking his hands away. "Who the eff doesn't?"

"My gay cousin, for one. And all his friends. And every gay man in--"

"Shut _up,_ " said Harry. "Weren't you listening? _I'm not gay!_ "

"No need to shout," said Hermione, wincing. 

"I wasn't!"

"You are."

Her gentle tones helped him realise that he really should lower his voice. She didn't deserve to be yelled at. "Look, I don't care how many gay cousins you have. Most men don't think it's great to contemplate... anyway, you just don't get it." 

"I get it," Hermione said, very quietly. "Now, I mean. I didn't know you thought... Listen, Harry. My cousin's told me loads about his lovers, and what they do, and it's really not the way you're thinking. I think maybe your family must have been a little bit... um, _repressive,_ but--"

She stopped talking, maybe because Harry was looking at her so incredulously. 

"Never mind. What matters is this, Harry. I'm your friend. Now, what would a friend do about a situation like this, where you're basically stuck? _Pity_ you? I didn't think that was what you wanted."

Harry pulled his hands free. "What did you think I wanted?"

"Someone to listen."

"No, I wanted advice," Harry admitted, bracing himself. Might as well, now that he'd told her so much already. "I'm really nervous about having to have sex with him. Real sex, I mean."

"In your shoes anyone would be nervous," Hermione assured him. 

"Yeah, I'm sure. But this is more than nerves. His... _oh, God._ " Harry swallowed and made himself say it. "You wouldn't know it to look at him, but under all those robes and such, parts of him are really _big_ , Hermione. One part, I mean."

Open, modern family or no, Hermione flushed at that. About time, Harry thought. Somehow it encouraged him to continue. "All right, so the nervousness comes in because I think he's going to hurt me when he..." Clearing his throat, Harry started over. "I mean, not that I think he wants to make it painful or something, but he's so big I think he'll hurt me without trying, Hermione. And even that's not enough to put me off the idea, because, well, I have to do it or I'll die. But I can't help but be horribly nervous. It wasn't so bad before. Well, it _was_ , but then I saw him and it suddenly got much, much worse."

"Oh, Harry." Hermione laid a hand on his arm. "That must be an awful feeling."

"Yeah." Harry put his hand on top of hers and for a moment just sat there, thinking that he was lucky to have her for a friend. He really _could_ tell her anything.

"So you wanted advice, then?"

 _Oh right, he had._ There was such a comfort in having someone to talk to that he'd lost track of that. "Well, here's the thing. I told Snape he'd better keep a healing potion handy, for right after, and he started going on about how he wasn't going to... uh, damage me, but I didn't exactly believe him. So then he had a suggestion for something we could do to ease my mind. It's... well, it's preparation, basically."

"Preparation?"

" _Physical_ preparation. He says it's common, and we have to do it later anyway, to..." Harry looked away and employed the _blurt_ method again. "To stretch me so he'll fit. He wants to use his..." Clearing his throat, Harry stretched out his fingers.

"Ah. All right." Hermione's curly hair bobbed a bit as she glanced down at their clasped hands and nodded. "Yes. I understand what you mean."

Harry sure hoped so. _Blurt_ method or no, he didn't think he could get any more specific than that. It had been bad enough discussing all of this with Snape. He was sure he couldn't tell a girl--not in words, anyway--that he was actually considering having Snape's long fingers shoved up his arse.

She didn't speak for a long moment, and when she did, it was only to say, "But what did you need advice about, Harry?"

"I can't decide if I should let him go ahead or not!"

Hermione, Harry noticed, had gone completely still. "You get to decide?"

"Well, for now. Like I said, he was pretty clear that later on I'll have no choice, that it's part of making sure I _don't_ get hurt, actually. But that's for after the invocation. He said he'd wait for that if I'd rather not get into it sooner." Sighing, Harry let go of her hand and began yanking out tufts of grass. "So, what do you think?"

Hermione leaned forward and tucked her hair behind her ears when it fell across her face. "Do you get the sense that Snape is... hmm, put it this way. You said that he's really quite good in bed, right?"

"Hermione!"

"Well you said he knew how to make you react," she went on, a little bit defensively. "So I'm thinking that he must be fairly experienced at making love. I mean, to men at least. Yes?"

"Yes," Harry said, hating to admit it yet again. Hermione wasn't trying to embarrass him, though; he knew that. She had a point in mind. She wasn't making it, though. Picking up on his mood, she had fallen silent. That wouldn't do. "Go on."

"I'm just thinking that if he's _that_ experienced, then he'd know, wouldn't he, whether this suggested preparation is likely to ease your mind? So if he says it's a good idea then it actually is one. Of course, as we're talking about Snape I suppose he might by lying. Hmm."

Harry blew a breath out through his nostrils. "Snape doesn't have a reason to make me any morenervous, which is the only thing that could happen if he lies about _this_. So... yeah, I think he is actually trying to calm me down."

"And the downside is....?"

Harry stared at her. Again. For someone so clever, she sure could be dense. "It's yucky, remember?"

"Oh." Hermione nodded, smiling, though it looked just a bit forced to Harry. "Right."

"Besides," said Harry, "I'm not sure it's such a good idea. I mean, it _is_ my arse, at least for the next week and a half or so. Then I have to hand it over, to whatever he likes."

"I'm sorry..."

Harry tossed the blades of grass he'd torn up into the air and watched them rain down on her hair. "No, you were right before. Sympathy doesn't help. Just be my friend and tell me what you think."

She shook out the grass before she answered. "Hmm. Well, a lot of things, actually."

"You're having me on, Hermione Granger thinking _lots_ of things. All at once, too, I bet."

"Oh, hush," she scolded, lightly punching him in the arm. "Here's what I think. Snape sounds like he's being, well, almost decent. For him, I mean. Of course there was that shirt thing, and demanding your vault key, and then the way we had to write notes. So, he's been an arse as well. No surprise there. But now he's letting you choose whether or not to go ahead with this? So that's encouraging, don't you think?"

Harry nodded and used his fingers to flick off a little leaf stuck in her hair. 

Hermione batted his hand away, her brow furrowing in concentration. "This is a chance for you to find out before the invocation how good his judgment is. Sexual judgment, I mean." She paused a moment, and then shrugged. "But you know me, I _always_ think it's best to be well-informed. About whatever. You know, though, I think this goes along with his telling you that the two of you are lovers... because it sounds to me like he's trying to treat you the way he'd treat a lover."

Harry couldn't help but scoff. "And how do you know how Severus Snape would treat a lover?"

"I know how I _imagine_ he would treat a slave, Harry. And... well, this isn't it."

"Yeah, there is that." Harry thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. "He's... surprising, is I guess the word. But I don't care what he says; we aren't lovers."

"I think you and Snape just see things differently when it comes to sex."

"You mean how he has twenty years on me and all that experience?"

Now Hermione was the one staring. " _No,_ I mean because he's attracted to men!"

Harry frowned. "That's just... well, it's just _mechanics_ , isn't it? You put Tab A into Slot C instead of Slot B."

"I think there's more to it than _that._ If you want, I could... um, get you a few books next time I go to London. At Blackwell's. My cousin got some books from there once, I think. Or do you want me to try a wizarding bookstore? For something more specific to your exact situation?"

"I don't want to _read_ about it; it's bad enough I have to _do_ it," Harry sighed. Strange as it was, he'd rather learn whatever he needed to know from Snape, he realised. Researching the matter was almost like admitting he wanted it. "So you think I should say yes about this... um, preparation? Is that your advice?"

"I think there are some valid reasons to," Hermione corrected. " _And_ the way you describe things, I think you can most likely trust Snape to know what he's doing. But you have to decide for yourself, Harry." She shook her head. "I wish I could just make you snap out of thinking it's so icky. I'm sure it's not. But... well, I guess what _you_ think is what matters."

Harry nodded. Hermione _was_ really a good friend. 

"Listen, I'm almost out of time but there's something else," he said as he jumped to his feet and held out a hand to help her up. He held onto it even after she was standing. "The witnesses for the invocation. I have to pick one of them, and I wanted you to know that I love and trust you enough to know you could really be there for me."

"Oh, Harry. I... that'd be a very difficult thing for me to see happen to you, but if you need me there I _\--_ "

"No, wait. I'm trying to say, I considered you but it's actually a lot more advantageous to ask Ron's dad. You know, he can file the acknowledgement of my status personally so it doesn't go to some clerk who'll do a double-take seeing the phrase _Harry Potter, slave._ So, Mr Weasley is it, assuming he'll agree. He's coming here tomorrow to talk to me about it. Oh, but don't tell Ron his dad was even around. You know..."

Hermione gave a slow nod. "You know, Ron _is_ going to find out sooner or later. But... yes, best not to tell him now. He's not so likely to react well. And you have enough of your plate already." Freeing her hand, Hermione waved toward the invisible wards surrounding them.

Harry drew his wand to cancel them, but paused. "You... you don't have anything to say about my choice of witness?"

"Well, I'm hardly so immature that I'm going to be hurt over it." Hermione raised her chin a notch.

Feeling more relaxed than he had in ages, even if he still had an awful decision to make, Harry grinned. "It's actually just as well. I have to feel pleasure in front of the witnesses, remember? I didn't really want you watch Snape kissing me until I get all hot and bothered--"

"Harry!"

"You said I could tell you anything," he teased, glancing at her sidelong. "Don't worry. Really, I'm used to it by now."

Hermione shifted on her feet. "Oh. Well, um, that's good..."

"I guess. At least I don't have to be naked for it; I guess the witnesses don't have to actually _witness_ , if you see what I mean--"

"Oh, you're just trying to embarrass me," Hermione accused, laughing. "I don't think you can."

"I'm enjoying having someone I can talk to about _anything_." Harry grinned again. "But the other's great fun, I admit."

Hermione punched him in the arm again. Harder that time.

"Hey, is it my fault you're a little slow?"

"Shut up, Harry," said Hermione, glowering. 

He was still smiling as he took down the wards, but once those layers of protection were gone, his expression sobered. "So much for talking everything over," he sighed. "Now I just have to _decide_. Oh, well. Nothing for it, I suppose. Can you be sure Ron doesn't see you for a few more hours? And then tell him I'm still revising on my own?"

"I'll take care of everything, promise." Hermione frowned as she cast _Tempus_ again. "You'd better go."

"Yeah." Harry leaned in and gave her a quick hug, then took off in a run.

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, June 6, 1998 ---- 10:05 a.m. **

Harry was late getting down to the dungeons, but this time, Snape didn't remark on it. Setting aside the faded yellow parchments he'd been leafing through, he stood up, his brow faintly furrowed as he watched Harry brush soot from his bare arms. 

Figuring that intense expression _had_ to mean that Snape wanted an answer to the suggestion he'd made about fingers, Harry couldn't help but tense. How should he know what to say? Even thinking about the idea made him feel vaguely queasy. It hadn't while he'd been talking to Hermione, but out by the loch, he'd felt a little distanced from the reality of it. Here, down in the dank cool of the dungeons, with Snape's piercing black eyes steadily assessing him, reality could not possibly be closer. 

Harry chanced a look down at the fingers in question, and started a little as he realised they weren't potion-stained in the least. Somehow he always thought of them that way, though thinking back he couldn't recall a single time when he'd actually seen a stain anywhere on Snape's hands. Usually they just looked oily, but that was the salve that kept fumes away, wasn't it? And anyway, Snape hadn't been greasy in the least lately. _I'd have known,_ Harry thought, heat rising to engulf his face and neck. _All those times he's touched me..._

"It would be pleasant if you would at least answer me!"

Harry blinked, and realising he was staring at Snape's hands, sort of shuddered. "Um, sorry. Did you say something?"

The Potions Master stiffened, his eyes narrowing yet further. "More than one thing. Are you feeling quite all right?"

"Yeah, fine," Harry answered, then wished he hadn't. Maybe if he pled illness, Snape would give him more time to decide about the fingers thing... No, that was just stupid. If he was going to agree to it at all, he might as well get it over with, right? Of course _that_ argument sort of meant there wasn't much to decide, since the way Snape told it, he was definitely going to have those fingers up his arse sooner or later.

All of a sudden, Harry _did_ feel sick. "I just... don't know what to tell you," he said, swallowing. 

Snape shook his head as though in mild censure. "It's hardly your fault if you were never told such things." The comment made a vague sort of sense until he followed it up with, "I presume your magic-hating relatives avoided discussing your parents with you?"

Remembering the headmaster's admonitions about the _value of an open, honest relationship_ , Harry nodded. "But what does that have to do with..."

"Allergens? Quite a lot. From what little information I've been able to collect, neither of your parents had any allergies, but..." The Potions Master shrugged. 

Harry blinked. "What do allergies have to do with anything?"

"You really _weren't_ listening. What did you think we were talking about?"

"Uh..."

"Why do you have to blush like that all the time?" Stepping closer, the Potions Master stroked a finger down the length of the younger man's cheek. "It started shortly after we began intimacies, so it's not hard to divine the cause, but Harry, you said yourself that your bodily response to me is akin to a reflex. It's perfectly natural. You're a healthy young man being denied all other outlets for your sexual needs, so of course what we've done together has a predictable effect. You shouldn't let yourself become embarrassed over it."

"Yeah, well I'll work on it."

"I suppose in you'll get over it in time." Snape frowned. "In the meantime, though, it could pose a problem. The last time the two of us spoke with Albus, you blushed crimson merely because I'd stepped into the room."

"Considering what we'd been doing for a few nights prior, that shouldn't shock you," Harry said, gritting his teeth and then making a conscious effort to relax. It was like Hermione had said; he and Snape simply didn't see the world in the same way. Maybe by age eighteen, Snape had been hopelessly jaded already. "Look, I can't really control it. Unless you want to give me a potion? That might work."

"I do know of one, but it's not intended for males..." His gaze caught Harry's. "Why does that simple fact make you flush even redder?"

"Never mind," muttered Harry, turning half away to stare at the wall. "I don't... So anyway, what's this about allergies?"

"Do me the courtesy of listening this time. There is a remote chance that you may have an adverse reaction to one of the ingredients in the hallucinogenic potion you'll be taking at the invocation. We need to test for that today. It would be helpful to know beforehand if either of your parents was similarly allergic, but as the information is simply not available, we will proceed as though expecting the worst-case scenario." 

Harry nodded his understanding. Feeling on firmer ground now that it seemed there'd be no talk of fingers... well, not for a while, anyway, he moved to face Snape again. "What if I _am_ allergic to something in the potion? You said in the précis that the potion would... um, prepare my physical body to be bound into your care, something like that. So if I'm allergic will the invocation fail?"

"No. If you are allergic we will take the appropriate steps to mute those allergies, so that the magic may proceed apace. I explained this already, Harry."

"Aren't you cutting it a little fine, waiting until so close to the seventeenth to find something like that out--"

"Ten to twelve days prior to exposure is what the anti-allergen potions require. Had we begun the process any earlier we could have triggered your system to become allergic, _as I already explained._ "

"All right." Harry shifted on his feet, uncomfortable. "Um, would you explain something else, though? I didn't understand what it meant, that bit about how the potion would _prepare my physical body to be bound into your care._ Should I be expecting my features to... uh, change to something you'd prefer?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"Well, you'd rather I looked different, right? So will I end up changing?"

Snape fairly glowered. "No, certainly not. You would not change in that manner even if I _did_ wish it, which I assure you I do not."

Harry rubbed his scar, thinking that made sense. He _was_ sort of the figurehead for the forces allied against Voldemort, so probably a radical change in his appearance would be poor tactics. Winning the war was obviously more important to Snape than the fact that Harry looked a lot like his father. And it was good, he supposed, that the Potions Master could forego his disdain for James at least a little. "So how is my physical body going to be prepared to be bound into your care, then? I'd like to know what to expect."

"Your semen will temporarily become imbued with some of the magic inherent to the _Podentes_ ritual."

Harry bit his lip. "Oh."

"You didn't perchance believe the bath was merely recreational, did you? _Podentes_ is invoked through Sex Magic, after all. Your semen--properly charmed in advance by means of rites undertaken prior--is an essential element." Snape stared at Harry for a moment. "Have you any other questions? No? Then follow me to the my workroom where we will begin testing for any allergies you may have. You may well end up feeling ill for a while during the trials--"

"Then shouldn't we do them out here?" asked Harry, pointing to the couch.

"I can certainly transfigure you something similar in there if you need to lie down."

Harry nodded. He wasn't looking forward to these trials, not least because they'd take place in that potions lab he'd hoped never to see again, but supposed Snape must have his reasons. Maybe the potion components shouldn't be moved around too much prior to being brewed. Or more likely, it was a test of Harry's resolve. Snape liked those, didn't he...

 _Even Potions_ , the man had warned the night before. _You have to be willing to accept anything, even Potions._

Without another word, Harry followed Snape down the hallway. 

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, June 6, 1998 ---- 11:54 a.m. **

"This is the last one."

Harry couldn't help but sigh with relief as he leaned heavily on the potions table. None of the substances had made him ill, but it was getting tedious sampling item after item, most of them unutterably foul to smell and taste. He didn't even know what most of them were, but that was his own fault. After Snape had handed him a shallow dish containing a wiggly purplish mass he'd explained was sow's placenta, Harry had announced he'd rather not hear about each and every potion component, thank you.

Snape, he was sure, had smiled slightly at that. A condescending smile that said Harry truly _didn't_ have the makings of an apprentice. But that was fine by Harry. He didn't care if Snape thought his squeamishness was amusing. 

And it _was_ better tasting each item when he didn't have to contemplate just what was going on his tongue and into his belly, especially since he knew he was going to have to choke them all down again on the seventeenth. Maybe they wouldn't be so bad once they were all brewed together.

Considering Snape's penchant for serving up things so disgusting you'd almost rather quaff your own vomit, though, Harry knew better than to get his hopes up.

The last potion component to be tested was a greyish powder so fine it looked like ash. Harry took the spoon Snape was offering him, and stared at the powder for a moment. But how bad could it be? He'd managed all right so far. Without hesitating further, Harry thrust the entire bowl of the spoon in his mouth and upended the powder, then tried to choke it down dry.

Snape, seeing his difficulty, conjured a glass of water for him. Sparkling water, which Harry had never had before. It fizzed over the inside surfaces of his mouth and bubbled down his throat, taking the last traces of the powder with it, leaving his tongue feeling strangely clean. 

_Better,_ Harry thought. "So, if that was the last one," he remarked, standing up straighter and pushing off from the counter, "it doesn't seem like I have any allergies, does it... _whoa---_ "

The stone floor beneath his feet started to tilt. No, wait. Not _all_ of it was tilting, just a little piece underneath his left foot. But it was tilting without moving, which was pretty strange, come to think of it. Curious, Harry abruptly dropped to all fours and put his face close to the stones to stare at the patch of stone he'd just been standing on. Uneven, that's what the problem was. 

Only now, his knees and palms were on uneven granite as well, and he felt like he was tilting in four different directions at once. And all without moving.

Sudden pressure flared against his right forearm, pressure that pulled him up off the floor and onto his feet, and all at once the oddest sensation in the world consumed his left ankle. He recognised it at once, that slight twinge of pain left over from his fall in the shower the night before. Emphasis on _slight._ Actually, the sensation was so mild it didn't really hurt at all. Harry wasn't even sure if he would call it discomfort, yet he could feel it so intensely that it was as though he'd never been aware of his ankle before. He could feel his own tendons and muscles, deep beneath the skin, could sense the exact stretch of flesh that had been strained. Could sense, even, the effort his own body was making to heal the tissues. The whole effect was nothing short of glorious, like the sun was rising inside him, bathing his ankle not with light and heat but with health and vitality itself.

Another sort of pressure distracted him, this time something pushing against his chin, lifting his head up. That sensation too was something to be savoured, five distinct points of compression against his skin, the contact warm yet insistent. Harry leaned into the touch, for that's what it was, he suddenly realised. A touch. A man's strong hand. A touch he could feel go straight through skin and into bone, though it wasn't harsh or painful in the least.

Looking up in reflex, Harry abruptly found himself staring into the blackest pair of eyes he'd ever seen. Endless tunnels filled with night, that's what they were, but if he looked hard enough, he could see himself reflected in their depths. He stared and stared, because the longer he looked the more detail resolved itself, until he was sure he could see the tiniest speck of green in those eyes... his own eyes, glittering back from that ghostly reflection.

Then the whole world began abruptly quaking, the room around him being yanked to and fro.

But no, that was all wrong, wasn't it? _He_ was the one being shaken. And somebody was shouting, the sound of it barely penetrating the mantle of silence all around. Strangely though, the moment he focussed _on_ the noise, it became absolutely, deafeningly clear.

"--- you hear me?"

"Yeah, I can hear you, no need to shout," Harry retorted. The sound of his own voice was just as fascinating as those eyes had been. Had he really always sounded like that? He could hear the timbre of every consonant and perceive almost endless variation in his vowels, and behind it all, his own breathing was like a symphony of overlapping sounds. It was all at once richer and more sublime than the finest music, and Harry was caught up in a sense of wonderment as he listened to his own voice. He kept talking for no better reason than because he wished to _listen,_ though he wasn't conscious of what he said, or indeed, if he was even speaking in sentences, let alone words. 

But the noises all slipped away from him the moment he felt himself abruptly shoved down onto something springy and cushioned. His hands went out by instinct to balance him, landing on some sort of fabric surface. _Oh God, _the sensations that evoked. He could feel the weave beneath his fingertips, the individual strands dipping in and out, intersecting, the whole thing so vibrant it was almost _alive_.

Harry dove face-first into the couch so he could get a better look at the magnificent upholstery.


	27. Chapter 27

 

 

** Saturday, June 6, 1998 ---- 12:01 p.m. **

Severus had known what to expect, but still, seeing the effects he'd read about played out in the flesh was startling, to say the least. _The subject will become hyper-aware of his surroundings,_ his texts had warned. _Odd behaviour may result as the subject fixates his attention on small sensory details._

Odd was putting it a bit mildly, Severus thought. Had Harry suddenly become able to smell the dungeon floor? He could think of no other reason why the young man had crouched down like that and put his face so close to the stones. Or why he was now apparently sniffing the couch Severus had hastily transfigured. 

"Sit up," the Potions Master said, taking a place alongside Harry, but the young man appeared not to hear him in the least. Just as he'd not heard him before, though there was no doubt as to his hearing, since shortly afterwards he'd appeared to fall in love with the sound of his own voice. Severus raised his, since that had worked well enough before. "Harry, sit _up!_ "

Harry did, and then all at once appeared to fall into a trance, his breathing going low and slow as his eyes closed, every inhalation of air clearly some sort of pleasure-inducing event, if his expression was anything to go by. 

It was as if the young man could concentrate only one thing at a time, and he gave it his utter and complete attention until something else caught his interest. Severus scowled, thinking that his texts could have been a good deal more specific about the effects of Dragon's Happy. It wasn't as though your average potions expert would have used it before; like most of the ingredients in the hallucinogenic potion, it was beyond rare. Severus felt entirely unprepared to deal with Harry's odd fixations, and it wasn't a feeling he liked. He didn't know what to do other than sit with the young man and make sure he didn't take it into his head to do something dangerous... like stop breathing completely just to experience _that_ sensation as well.

That didn't seem likely to happen, though; already the young man's attention had been captured by something else. He'd opened his eyes and looked straight at Severus, but not into his eyes this time. Harry was staring at the row of buttons that held Severus' shirt closed, his fingers reaching out to smooth over a few of them before he evidently picked a single button to concentrate on, bothhands fondling it now as though he'd never in his life felt something quite so fascinating.

Until, that is, his fingers grazed against the fabric of Severus' shirt. As his interest shifted, Harry began running his palms up and down the black fabric covering Severus' chest. Up and down, his touch anything but tentative as he scooted closer, his lips parted slightly, a breathy sound of pleasure whispering past his lips. 

In other circumstances, having Harry touch him like this would be quite... invigorating. Actually, it _was_ invigorating, so much so that Severus could feel the impotence potion fighting a losing battle against temptation. He'd have doubled his usual dose if he'd known that _he_ was going to become a sensory detail for Harry to fixate on. Severus cleared his throat, momentarily wondering how much of this behaviour Harry was going to remember. 

Clearing his throat, though, was a major mistake. The sound caught Harry's attention. Before Severus had even finished, the young man's fingers were reaching up to rub against the skin covering Severus' vocal cords, his nails lightly scratching as he explored all of Severus' throat, right around to his nape.

And _then,_ as Harry's knuckles grazed against the sweep of straight hair falling down Severus' back to his shoulders, the young man moaned low in his throat. His fingers began to weave themselves through the strands, Harry licking his lips as he singled out one section of hair for his attention and rolled it between his palms. 

The impotence potion failed utterly.

 _Well, magic does have its limits,_ Severus thought as he let Harry tug him forward. It seemed the young man wanted to look at his hair now, but the position put their mouths in such close proximity that all at once, the only thing Severus could think of was kissing. Hot, steamy kissing, Harry flat on his back beneath Severus, Harry _knowing_ for once exactly how he affected Severus. And who knew, perhaps the hardness pressing against Harry's thigh would be the next thing to catch the young man's attention, and Harry would dive his hands beneath trousers and pants, wanting to feel _that_ part of Severus as well, wanting to slide palms up and down, wanting to circle his girth with his fingers--

Thankfully, Severus wasn't so far gone as to actually fling the young man on his back. For all he knew, Harry would remember every detail of this... _phase._ He wouldn't much appreciate Severus taking advantage of this mindless sensual abandon. 

And more rancour between them was hardly what they needed with the invocation coming up so soon.

His hands shaking, Severus placed them lightly atop Harry's shoulders and gave the young man a gentle push away, the better to limit temptation. He'd expected the slight change in position to capture Harry's attention and distract him from running his hands through Severus' hair, but Harry seemed entirely fixated on the black strands. Drawn like a moth to a flame, he merely scooted closer again, this time casually slinging one leg across Severus' thighs, his fingers still weaving in and out of locks of hair.

Resigned to it by then, Severus drew in a deep breath and began mentally listing the contents of his potions storeroom.

In alphabetical order.

The mental discipline didn't help; his arousal still was thrusting fiercely upwards, demanding attention, demanding to be freed... 

Clenching his fists, Severus forced his mind back onto the inventory. Potions storeroom, that was it. Up to "C" by now. Cauldrons, then. Bronze, copper, iron, too many to count. Three of silver, one of gold...

When Harry leaned in closer still and began draping strands of hair across his lips, his throat making a low hum of pleasure, Severus forgot entirely about cauldrons. Sweet Merlin, the young man was practically kissing his hair! Of course there was no real kissing to it; Harry was merely savouring the feeling of each fine strand caressing his mouth, but it was near enough to kissing to make no real difference to Severus. A young man he'd wanted for weeks now was attracted to _him,_ or at least his hair. And it wouldn't last. He _ought_ to take advantage of it while he could, but he didn't dare.

Much more of this, though, and Severus would run mad.

"Harry," he tried to say, surprised at how much like a gasp the name sounded. 

"Hmmm?"

"Perhaps you ought to... control yourself."

The young man's only response to that was to press his whole torso up against Severus' side as he surrounded himself in hair and inhaled the scent of it.

Just when Severus was about to reach his wit's end, Harry began to emerge from the grip of the Dragon's Happy. At first, he did nothing but go still, his whole body thrumming with a tension that said more clearly than words that he didn't really know how he'd ended up quite so twined around Severus. Then, all at once, he jerked his hands out of Severus' hair and backed away, breathing as heavily as though he'd just finished a long bout of Quidditch. Muttering something that sounded vaguely like an apology, Harry yanked his leg off Severus' thighs and removed himself to the far side of the couch, where he sat with his hands clenched so tightly in his lap that Severus suspected he was attempting to restrain them from wandering again.

Either that, or he was punishing his fingers. The young man certainly looked unhappy to have caught them worshipping Severus' hair.

" _God,_ " Harry abruptly swore. "I mean... _shite!_ "

 _Quite,_ Severus almost said, but he didn't think Harry would be in the right frame of mind to appreciate the humour. "Do you feel all right, now?"

"No." Looking around as though in need, Harry suddenly grabbed the glass he'd drunk from before. He made a move as though to draw his wand, but Severus laid a hand on his bare arm to stop him.

"Best not to cast while you're still under the influence," he said, and conjured fresh water himself. Plain, this time.

Harry wasted no time in drinking it, but it wasn't lost on Severus how he seemed to let the last of it sit in his mouth for an inordinately long time.

Or how he slowly swiped his tongue across his lips when he finally set the glass aside. 

"Under the influence is putting it mildly," he said in a voice considerably rougher than normal. "What the hell _was_ that stuff?"

"Dragon's Happy." Feeling a bit dishevelled, Severus carded his fingers through his own hair and shoved it straight back from his forehead so it would stop falling across his face. It was a habitual gesture of his, so much so that he wasn't really aware of doing it. Not until, that was, Harry's mouth fell open every so slightly, his gaze tracking every movement until he shook his head much as though to clear it of wayward thoughts.

"Dragon's Happy," Harry repeated, his eyes closing as he contemplated that. Severus couldn't tell if he was trying to recall what he might have learned of it, or if he was merely relishing the sound of the words. But then his eyes snapped open again, the green in them fierce with indignation as he sputtered, "Hey! That's..."

"Metabolised opium," Severus confirmed, nodding. 

" _Metabolised!_ You mean digested, don't you? By dragons! You fed me dragon shite!"

"Technically, it's dried concentrated dragon dung ground in a basalt mortar--"

"Like that makes it any better!"

"As you're evincing an interest I thought you may as well glean an accurate picture--"

"Sure you did!"

Severus waited a moment before speaking again. "Harry. Your anger is misplaced."

Harry made a face, but then he nodded. "Yeah, I know. It's not your fault that the potion I have to drink is made of the most god-awful stuff on the planet. _Dragon's Happy._ God, what a ludicrous name. Somebody ought to be strangled. Anyway, though, what do we do about my allergy? _Please_ don't tell me it's a case of desensitising me to the stuff. If I have to down some dragon shiteevery day until the invocation I'll end up mental."

"You're not allergic. That was a normal reaction."

"Normal!" Harry gave a weak laugh, then rested his head on the back of the couch as he closed his eyes once more. "It was... intense. I can't imagine how the invocation can work if I'm in such a state. I won't be able to follow directions, that's for sure. My brain seemed like it was stuck on either _pause_ or _fast-forward_." Another weak laugh, that one somewhat deprecating. "Um, those are Muggle terms; they come from a machine called a VCR--"

"I think I understand," Severus interrupted. "Have the effects fully worn off yet?"

"I guess not, since I'm sitting here thinking that the inside of my eyelids is a really interesting sight."

"You seem lucid now, at least." Severus paused a moment to think. After the heady sensuality of the last few moments, perhaps what they both needed was to move the entire incident onto a less personal plane. Certainly such a shift would ease things for the young man, whose blushing cheeks belied the casual tone of his last comment. "Would you be willing to detail for me the effects as you experienced them?"

Harry, Severus was quick to notice, flushed even redder. "Uh---"

Severus almost grimaced when he realised how Harry was interpreting his request. "Not the details of what you might have felt compelled to do. The physical effects. Heart rate, breathing, anything else you were able to observe. How the effects might have changed as your exposure to the Dragon's Happy continued. That sort of thing."

The colour in the young man's cheeks receded somewhat as he nodded and looked about as though in search of quill and parchment. Severus waved towards a drawer, and watched as Harry lurched to his feet and took unsteady steps forward. Once the young man had the needed supplies out on a counter however, he simply stared at them.

"Problem?" asked Severus as he restored each potion component to its proper storage.

"You might say that." Harry picked up the quill, holding it awkwardly, and dragged it against the parchment several times in a slashing movement. "Seems I can't write at the moment."

"Ink would help, I feel quite certain."

"Ha, very funny." Harry glared, but that didn't last long. "I haven't forgotten the ink. I was trying it out without because something feels all wrong. I... I can't remember what the letters look like."

Severus raised an eyebrow but otherwise kept his expression placid, though he found that news a tad alarming. "Can you read at the moment?"

Harry grabbed the flask nearest to hand and peered at the label. "No. Is that normal?"

Daft question. Severus certainly wouldn't have asked him to write had he known of this effect, but he forbore from pointing that out. "It will pass," he merely said, continuing to clear things away.

"What if it doesn't?"

"It will."

Harry worried his lips with his teeth. "I... it's all very odd. I know my name starts with an H, but I can't for the life of me remember how to make one. Um, it is sort of like a curlicue with dots before and after?"

"It's a ladder with one rung."

"That doesn't make any sense--"

"Harry, it _will_ pass. Try to dismiss the matter for the moment."

"All right." Harry's chest lifted in a sigh, the fabric of his shirt clinging to his muscles. 

Severus looked away, little good that it did him. He could still see the sight in his mind's eye. His erection had diminished while they'd talked, but it wouldn't take much to make it flare fully to life again.

"I wanted to ask more about the Dragon's Happy anyway. If I can't concentrate well enough to follow your directions, then how can the invocation possibly work?"

"Since _Podentes_ has in fact resulted in crossed powers several times in history, one must assume that the metabolised opium does not preclude a successful invocation."

"Yeah, unless allergic or no, I'm a little bit more sensitive to it than usual."

Severus frowned, disturbed on two accounts. That was in fact a good point, and he should have been the one to think of it first. Then again, he knew a great many things that Harry didn't. "That was raw, pure Dragon's Happy ingested to assess for allergies," he thought to explain. "In the potion you drink, its properties will be both muted and bound in with the properties of other magical ingredients. It will _not_ produce results exactly the same as what you experienced today."

Harry nodded, leaning heavily against the counter. "You're the Potions Master, so you tell me. What _will_ it be like, then?"

"It's difficult to predict precisely from the brewing sequence alone. It's not as though there are modern trials to study--"

"Your best guess, Severus," Harry impatiently put in, raising his head in a weary gesture. "It's the least you can do, especially after you gave me that stuff without warning me I'd end up as illiterate as you've always claimed."

"I don't think you illiterate!"

"Yeah, I guessed _that_ from the sheer volume of readings you used to pile on me whenever I got a question wrong. Didn't stop you from saying it though, did it?" Harry made a gesture as though trying his best to start over. "Look, that hardly matters now. Just tell me what the full potion is likely to do to me." 

Severus briskly nodded. "A good many components in the supplicant's potion tend toward opening up the emotions. I suspect the Dragon's Happy may still grant you some level of heightened sensory awareness, but it's main effect will likely be to help you concentrate _on_ emotion, or rather, on your emotion of the moment."

"Well, that's awfully bad news." Harry's green eyes were dark with worry when his gaze met Severus'. "I remember what you wrote. I have to _want_ to be your property. If the potion's going to be sort of like truth serum for the emotions, how the hell is the invocation supposed to work at all?" A bitter laugh spilled out the young man's mouth. "Maybe I should just go down to Madam Malkin's and order myself a shroud so I can be ready for my birthday! I'm a dead man, after all--"

"You are not a dead man. And you are not in this alone. I am as responsible as you are to make the invocation succeed, and it _will_ succeed. We still have over a week in which to help you develop the requisite mindset--"

"A week!" Harry pushed off the counter as if a surge of lightning had shot through him. "I've been trying my bloody best, Severus. You _know_ I have. I've got _naked_ with you, for God's sake. I've let you do... well, you know! But I can't just manufacture emotion on demand, and a week's not going to make a rat's arse worth of difference! Hell, we could practice for an effing hundred years and I still wouldn't want to be your sex slave--"

Severus stood up in one smooth motion, then walked two steps toward Harry and pulled him into his arms to kiss him. And not to kiss him better, either. Severus was staking a claim, his lips fierce and hot, his mouth open and insistent. 

And Harry responded, a low groan rising up from his chest, his hands clutching at Severus' shoulders, his breathing harsh and ragged when the Potions Master at last drew back. 

"We have _that_ between us, and a month ago you would have said we couldn't manage it, not in a hundred years."

He saw Harry's Adam's apple bob as the young man swallowed. "That's a far cry from me wanting to be your slave."

" _Cambiare is the key,_ " quoted Severus. "And it would not be were all of this impossible. We _can_ make it happen. Or do you no longer believe the prophecy?"

"I don't know what I believe," admitted Harry, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Severus' chest. After a moment, the young man took a small step forward and let his whole body sort of slump against the other man. Severus wrapped an arm around him to hold him up. "Um, I think I'm losing it. It's just... too much, you know? You'd think I'd be used to the prospect by now but the closer it gets the worse everything starts to look. I... I don't know what's wrong with me..." 

"You ingested no fewer than twenty highly potent substances this morning. I'd think your mood could have been affected by any number of them," Severus soothed, thinking that it was rather pleasant holding Harry. It was more than pleasant, even if it was the Dragon's Happy rather than true desire causing the young man to rub his cheek back and forth against Severus' shirt, the feel of it apparently alluring. 

As _Harry_ was alluring.

Far too much so, because the damned impotence potion _would_ choose that moment to fail yet again. More spectacularly than before, too. Severus almost moaned out loud as he felt his arousal surge fully back and throb insistently against the clothing confining it. 

Harry flinched back a yard. "Uh, is that what I think it is?"

Severus debated what to say, though he knew deep down that only the truth would serve. "Yes."

"I... uh..." Clearly at a loss, Harry blew his breath out and looked away. But not before some involuntary reflex had him glancing briefly down, Severus noted. "How long have you been... I don't mean how long today, I mean in general, uh, you know? 'Cause I've never noticed..."

"I've been taking an impotence potion since after that first backrub." 

Harry's eyebrows drew together. "You've been _lying_ all this time?"

"I knew the truth would alarm you, as indeed it has."

"I'm not alarmed exactly--"

"No?"

"Well obviously I knew you'd eventually have to get it hard if I was going to _take it up the arse!_ "

"Don't speak so crudely!"

"Why not? _You_ did!"

"I should _not_ have," Severus said, his voice rasping inside his throat. 

Harry, he thought, appeared not to even notice that admission. "I pretty much figured you'd have to use a potion _to_ be able to... uh, you know, manage to want me enough to go through with..."

 _Talk about admissions._ Severus raised an eyebrow and decided that _cool indifference_ had been nothing short of a massive miscalculation. Which said something in of itself about how Harry affected him, didn't it? It wasn't often that Severus misread a situation so thoroughly, though now he thought he'd been doing nothing but with Harry. 

"Harry," he said, then waited until the young man looked at him. Defensive, those green eyes. And no wonder, since Severus had done all he could--albeit unwittingly--to make him feel unwanted. "A kiss alone can make me want you. _Just looking at you_ can make me want you."

"Ha, you looked your fill in the shower and it didn't affect you at _all!_ "

"Because I was taking an impotence potion!" exclaimed Severus, shaking his head. Hadn't they just covered that?

"Yeah, _lying_ , like I said!" shouted Harry, proving he hadn't forgotten. "Hermione said I was starting to lose sight of just how manipulative you can be, and I guess she was right! So what happened today, eh? You'd decided I'd been tricked and fooled for long enough and it was time I realised that _Podentes_ wasn't going to be _nearly_ so painful for you as for me?"

"It won't be painful at all, as you'll know this evening when I begin to stretch you a bit--"

"Oh, like _that's_ going to happen, sure!" Harry bared his teeth, and then, as though he couldn't even bear to look at the other man, abruptly spun around, his hunched shoulders announcing that he'd crossed his arms. "Oh it will eventually, you made that damned good and clear, but if you think _now_ that I'm going to let you touch me that way _one second_ before I have to, you're stark, barking mad! You'd just enjoy it, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, of course I would enjoy it--"

"Is that why you stopped taking your potion, because you thought I'd say _yes_ to having your fingers thrust up my arse, and you wanted to get every thrill you could--"

"I haven't stopped taking the potion, you imbecile!"

Harry whirled around to face him, his features twisted with rage as he glared furiously at the placket in Severus' trousers. "Then what the hell is that, eh?"

" _That_ ," Severus stressed, reining in his urge to fling more invective, "is a demonstration of how much I want you, Harry Potter. When you began to touch me earlier --yes, yes, I know it wasn't you, it was the Dragon's Happy-- but at any rate, your touch proved more potent than the potion. Which is no great wonder. I've been mad for you for weeks and the potion is the only thing that's kept me half-sane!"

The young man flushed to the tips of his ears. "That's not true!"

"Oh yes, it most certainly is."

"But you can't stand the sight of me!"

Breathing deeply, Severus shook his head. "Truly, Harry, we have had a colourful past, you and I, but--"

"Not _that_ ," Harry interrupted, his tone scathing. "I meant literally. You know, how you hate the way I look?"

"I do _not_ hate the way you look!" 

"What are you then, completely _twisted?_ " A long shudder wracked Harry's shoulders. "Oh God, I was right that first night, wasn't I? It's all about you finally getting revenge on James, about humiliating _me_ because _he's_ beyond your reach. No wonder you're so hard over the prospect, I saw how he humiliated _you--_ "

"No, Harry, _no_ ," cried Severus, yanking the young man into his arms and holding him there even though he struggled. "It's _not_ about James! You _aren't_ James; I know that--"

"Yeah, but I look just like him, don't I now?" Harry kicked out at Severus' shins, but the older man held on tight. 

"No, you don't!"

That made Harry go still. "Yes, I do--"

"You did," Severus conceded, rushing his words out for fear Harry would start accusing him of lying again. "At the age of twelve you looked quite like my memory of a younger James. But over the years you've grown into your mother's features as well. I realised when you first came down here that though I'd spent your entire school career thinking of you as James' twin, you no longer resemble him so closely as before."

Since Harry wasn't thrashing to be set free, Severus gentled his grip. "I don't look at you and see James, Harry," he said, the words ringing with that special kind of sincerity usually reserved for the taking of vows. "I don't."

Severus wouldn't have known the young man was shaking if not for the fact that his hands still rested on Harry's back.

"All right... well that's good. That's really a horrible thought for me, that you might enjoy this because you've always wanted to get back at my father... but then..." Severus heard a gulping noise as Harry swallowed. "I don't understand, then. You like men, I get that part. So, I thought when you um, enjoyed my orgasm it was just a case of liking it because that's what you like. You know, men. In general. But how can looking at _me_ get you... uh, excited? When you think I'm so very ugly?"

" _What?_ "

Taking advantage of Severus' slack grip, Harry pushed away, then stared up into the other man's eyes. "You always say that about me."

"When have I ever--"

" _Go on, Potter, ignore that ugly scar on your hand--I suppose you're used to bizarre disfigurements by now,_ " Harry quoted, his voice vicious. "And you said I had oddly-shaped ears, and before that you told a hallway full of students that my eyes were the colour of death and it made you sick just looking at me--"

"Because you'd just liquefied Malfoy! Students were _stepping_ in him and tracking him all over the castle!"

"Yeah, well what about calling me pasty-faced and scrawny? Or _runt,_ how about that? Or--"

"Harry, I have a vitriolic tongue, and you have _not_ spent the past seven years doing much to make me want to temper it. And neither was I looking at you then as anything other than an annoying whelp who refused to follow the advice of his elders, let alone the rules! But now...." Severus broke off as he felt his gaze begin to heat. The impulse to dampen it, to hide behind _cool indifference_ again was almost overwhelming, but Harry would only see it as more manipulation. His voice stiff, he forced himself to continue. "Now I look at you and see a most exquisitely attractive young man. I look at you and see my lover. I look at you and remember the pleasures we have shared."

"Shared!"

"Yes, shared!" Severus moved to the couch then, and beckoned the young man to join him. Harry sat on the other end, as far away as he could get, a depressing sight which called to mind their first few evenings together. "Harry, do you think I've had no pleasure from you?"

Defensive, posture and expression both. Like Harry was the one trying to hide behind cool indifference, this time. But Harry, young and headstrong, didn't even know how to begin to conceal his feelings, any more than he could conceal his blushes. "Well you didn't ever come, did you..."

 _Ah, but I did..._ Severus thought better than to get into that, though. Harry was offended enough already. "The flaccidity potion doesn't repress desire or sensation, Harry, it only prevents the male from expressing that desire in the most obvious way. I can assure you, I've felt enormous pleasure holding you in my arms as you convulsed with need. Need that _I_ had put there. And though the satisfaction of my own need has had to wait..." Severus' voice dropped to a low hum. "The anticipation has been nothing short of delicious."

Harry licked his lips, a pink tongue swiping across them in a smooth arc. 

Severus felt a jolt of pleasure merely watching that, but he didn't mention as much. He didn't think Harry was aware of how provocative the gesture was. Or perhaps more to the point, Harry wasn't aware he'd made the gesture at all.

"I...." The young man was still as a statue now, though his voice was trembling. "You can't have gone from thinking me a runt to thinking me... uh, _exquisite_ , in just a few weeks."

"No," admitted Severus. "I suppose the answer to that is that I haven't _truly_ thought of you in such deprecating terms for some time. But old habits die hard, and I always have appreciated the art of the insult. If you think about it, _runt_ is a bit of a ridiculous comment for me to have made. I can't imagine why you've taken it so to heart, Harry. You aren't the shortest seventh-year by any means."

"James was tall," Harry muttered. "I have the photos to prove it, photos of him with Remus, him with Sirius."

"The headmaster thinks you are, in fact, not through growing, though we doubt you will ever be as tall as James," Severus supplied. Harry had been called a _freak_ at home, he remembered Albus saying. He'd grown up with insults, so perhaps it wasn't so surprising that he would have taken Severus' vicious words to heart. Perhaps it had never occurred to him to doubt them. "But Harry, _runt_ was said with intent to wound you, like all the rest."

"Sure it was."

Severus repressed an urge to sigh. "I said you were illiterate, too, as you pointed out yourself a few moments ago. Did you think I really believed you couldn't read?"

"No, but I thought you really believed I was stupid."

"I _don't_ think you are stupid! Nobody who makes it to N.E.W.T.-level potions could possibly be stupid!"

"Yeah, well I blew my N.E.W.T. all to hell, didn't I? Or the classroom. Same difference. So now I'm _exquisite,_ are you going to make up some blather about how you think I'm brilliant as well?"

"You aren't brilliant," Severus dryly stated. "You're a young man of perfectly normal intelligence and if I ever implied otherwise--"

" _If!_ "

" _When_ I implied otherwise, it was because I enjoyed hurting you. _Not_ because I was interested in dispensing unbiased truth, as the _illiterate_ jibes alone demonstrate. The remarks about your appearance were more of the same. Hatred, poured out in verbal form. They say everything about me, Harry, and nothing whatsoever about you."

All he got in answer to that was a shaky nod. 

Perhaps, Severus thought, it would be best to tackle this disease at the root.

"Harry. You know you are not in fact the slightest bit stupid, correct?"

"Sometimes I feel like I am." Harry grimaced. "But right, yeah, I know that's just emotion of the moment or something. I only feel that way when something goes horribly wrong, like... never mind."

"So when I said, for example, that you possessed less critical thinking capacity than a potted fern, you were aware that I had to be either sincerely mistaken or venting my own emotions." Severus waited until Harry gave a wary nod. Clearly, the young man didn't know where this was headed. 

Well, Severus barely knew, himself. He just knew he wanted to get through to the young man.

"So when I would insult your appearance, why did you not regard those remarks in the same light?"

"I... _uh,_ I don't know." Harry seemed to back even further into the corner, though that was hardly possible. "I... those just _hit_ me differently. And anyway, in your class most of the time I _did_ feel stupid."

 _And ugly,_ Severus was beginning to realise. And he'd done his best to reinforce both impressions, though he hadn't understood until now just how successful he had been. Harry had always seemed resilient. The type to bounce back from setbacks, to let insults slide right off his back. All that though, might have more to do with pride than true confidence.

"Since you have begun coming down here," Severus explained, feeling his way forward like a wizard with no wand, "I've seen you in a different light than before. I find you quite attractive in both face and form. I didn't wish to make you uncomfortable by remarking on it; you have, after all, made it more than clear that I'm hardly your ideal of a lover. But for all that, haven't you been listening to me night after night? How many times have I mentioned your muscles or your physique? What did you _think_ I meant when I said that Quidditch has its uses?"

Harry blushed, but at least he wasn't holding himself quite so tautly as before. "Uh, that it would get me out of your hair once in a while?"

"You didn't think that, not when you believed I meant to ban all Quidditch."

"Well, I knew it couldn't mean the obvious thing, so--"

 _Assumptions again..._ Harry's, this time. 

"It did mean the obvious thing." Then, thinking that after his litanies of insults he really ought to make his compliments every bit as direct, Severus went on, "You appear to me like a finely worked piece of art, Harry. A statue with perfect lines, perfect proportions, except that unlike any statue, _you_ are sculpted out of darkest black and Slytherin green. My favourite colours, as I'm sure you recall. Harry... you're hauntingly exquisite. Strong, firm... I've often thought that I could never tire of looking at you. _All_ of you."

"I... oh, _God._ " Harry began chewing his lower lip. "I'd rather you thought me ugly. Honestly. Are you going to want... um, intimacies all the time then? I mean, I thought it'd be a bit of a chore for you, so we wouldn't have to do it too often, right? Enough to cross powers, sure, but... look, just how much sex are you going to need?" He made an awful face. "'Cause I know I have to meet your needs."

"Harry, we are _lovers_ , as the spell intends that we should be. It's hardly going to be a chore for you either--"

Wrong thing to say, apparently. 

"Ha!" Harry abruptly shouted. "So you have a positive outlook, do you? Well, you _would_. If I'm as attractive as you say, you're probably looking forward to having me be your little _toy,_ your little bed-slave! I bet you're even counting the days--"

Too much desire, too much emotion, and all of it coursing through Severus like a river overrunning its banks. He didn't school his features quickly enough.

And Harry saw. His eyes blazed like a demon's, his voice rising still further as he jumped up from the couch. "You _have!_ You utter bastard! You've been counting the days until I'm at your beck and call! Except you couldn't wait, could you? Oh no, we had to _practise!_ You've done your level best to take my last few weeks of freedom and make me a slave for all that time, too! Except you didn't want me to know that's the way it was, didn't want me knowing that it's not about _Podentes_ at all for you, it's just about lust!"

"That is _not_ true--"

"Yeah, well it's sure as shite true that I'm the one getting the raw end of the deal! What do you have to complain about? _You're_ the one who's interested in men, and _you_ get handed one you find attractive, one you're allowed to fuck as much as you please, never mind what _he_ wants, while I just have to take it and take it and _take_ it, and as if that's not _enough_ to be going on with, you had to ruin my last few weeks of freedom _and_ lie about what you were doing it for!"

Before Severus could respond, Harry abruptly swayed on his feet, his eyes going glassy. "I think I'm going to sick up."

Severus got up from the couch and settled Harry down onto it, lying the young man on his side and fetching him a basin. 

Harry didn't sick up, though. He swallowed convulsively instead, and finally said in a thick voice. "There. I think the worst of it has passed. I... look, I don't want to sleep with you but I don't think that's what actually made me feel so nauseous. I can handle it."

"Too much anger combined with Dragon's Happy is likely what has made you feel so ill. Not a good combination. Can you visualise an H, yet?"

Harry wrinkled his forehead as he tried. "Not really..."

"I think perhaps you ought to rest a while. Sleep, if you can. You'll feel better when your system clears."

"I won't feel a whole _lot_ better about..." Harry weakly gestured toward the front of Severus' trousers, then let his arm drop with a thud to the stone floor. "You know."

Kneeling down, Severus smoothed sweaty hair away from Harry's brow. The boy felt warm to him, too warm, and he could have cursed that he'd let their conversation go so far. He should have realised that it wasn't the best time for such revelations. "We'll talk it all through later when you're feeling more yourself."

Harry shuddered, a reaction which struck Severus as odd until the young man spoke. "I don't have to rest in here, do I?"

"No. The couch in the living room will do just as well, or my bed if you prefer."

The young man pushed himself to his feet, still unsteady, and trudged off as though he were carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. An apt metaphor, Severus was forced to own. He followed him down the tunnel and let them both back into his quarters, reminding himself to teach Harry the incantation to open the space. That could wait until the Dragon's Happy wore off completely, however. 

He'd hoped the young man would take him up on that offer to use the bed, but Harry headed for the couch instead, and fell at once into a sleep almost as deep as death. 

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, June 6, 1998 ---- 6:19 p.m. **

Harry woke up disoriented and feeling rather grungy. For a few moments he wasn't quite sure where he was, as it was dark all around. But then he heard a swishing noise and the lights, set into sconces high on the walls, began to put out a soft, yellow glow. Harry blinked to adjust his eyes, then glanced up and noticed Snape.

"How are you feeling, now?"

Harry stood up to stretch before he answered. "Pretty good, I guess." His glance strayed to the far wall, where the enchanted window was showing the lake by night. "Is it that late? Wait, that's not right... where's the moon? It should be almost full."

Snape tapped the top of the window with his wand and all at once the scene shifted to a view of the lake shimmering in the late afternoon sun. "That's an actual view, now. The other one was an enchantment to darken the room so you could sleep as long as possible."

Harry remembered, then, just why he'd needed to sleep. _The Dragon's Happy. The strange sensation of everything looking and sounding and feeling so absolutely fascinating. _And then... _oh dear God, the feel of Snape's hair falling over my hands, wrapped around my fingers, the smell of it..._

He felt his face flare like a furnace as the rest of it came to him, every last thing they'd discussed.

Snape was attracted to him! And not just in some abstract, intellectual kind of way. _That_ , Harry could have handled. Maybe. But _this?_ The man had been hard as a rock! For _him._

Harry didn't want to talk about it, let alone _think_ about it, so he said the first thing that crossed his mind. "But we're underground; the window there is nothing _but_ enchantment, isn't it?"

Snape was looking at him carefully, his dark eyes missing nothing, but Harry couldn't be sure if he was just assessing his health, or trying to judge his mood, or if God forbid, he was admiring those _perfect lines, perfect proportions_ he had mentioned. The last possibility made Harry feel ever so slightly queasy. 

"It's all enchantment," Snape admitted, his voice smooth and casual. Harry felt a shiver go over him hearing it, for he could still remember how that sound had seemed to sink straight through him, earlier. Straight through him to his groin... but he wasn't going to think about that, either. "Do you habitually keep such close track of the phases of the moon, Harry?"

"Yeah, I worry about Remus. I wish he could visit more often." Harry sighed. He'd probably never get to see Remus again. Even if Snape relented someday and let him have a visit or two with Ron and Hermione, there was no way he'd be as generous when it came to the werewolf. "Um, you know how you're still making his Wolfsbane? That just because of the Order, I think." Harry drew in a breath. "Look, I understand the thing about promises, but I have to know that you'll keep making his potion even after I kill V... the Dark Lord. I mean, you'll probably think there's no more point once the Order has disbanded, but it's really wrong that Remus should have to suffer just because we've won. It's bad enough that _I'll_ have to."

"I don't make the Wolfsbane because of the Order; I do it on Albus' request."

"So as long as Dumbledore is alive, then, you'll keep helping Remus each month? Then what about after...?"

"The monthly transformation is quite hard on Lupin's internal organs," said Snape in a matter-of-fact voice. "It's likely he will predecease Albus."

If Harry didn't know better he'd think that Snape wasn't taking any vicious satisfaction in his words. But he did know better, so the man's calm tones didn't fool _him_. Besides, he'd just recently been reminded of what a liar Snape really was.

He'd wanted Harry for _weeks_ and never once let on, so he could certainly conceal his delight at the prospect of Remus' early death. No matter that what he'd said was true and Harry knew it. It was the thought that counted.

"Suppose he's luckier than most werewolves and outlives the headmaster, though. Will you keep making his potion? Please?" 

Snape's eyes darkened. "I can't comment on that. Truly, Harry."

 _No promises,_ that was what he meant. Harry couldn't go into _Podentes_ thinking that things would be all right because at least Remus would be safe from his monthly terrors. He had to be willing to accept Snape's decision on that, as well as on everything else. He had to _surrender._

And now, knowing that Snape wanted him sexually, the word felt more real than ever before. Like something physical. Shackles, maybe. To bind him not just to _Podentes_ or to Snape, but to lock him away from his very self. How could he not care what happened to Remus? How could he trust _Snape_ of all people to overlook his horrid grudges?

He couldn't.

But he had to, because nothing else was going to make the invocation work. And if _that_ didn't work, Remus was doomed just like the rest of them.

 _Surrender,_ Harry thought again, and bit his own tongue rather than say another word about Remus. 

The Potions Master stared at him for a moment, and when Harry held to his silence, handed him a stack of yellowed parchment. "Are you able to read once more?"

Harry scanned the top page. The writing was faded with age, but not so much that it was illegible. "Yeah, seems so. That was really strange, by the way... Hey, this is..."

"Your mother's school record," Snape acknowledged, nodding his head toward a second pile of parchment sitting on a side table. "And your father's is there. I was reviewing what little information still remains in hopes of finding any mention of allergies, but when I'd finished it occurred to me that you might like to have these papers?"

"Well sure, I'd like to have them," Harry said morosely, not looking up. "But I'm not allowed to, am I? I'd rather not have to burn them on the seventeenth, you know."

Snape gave a brisk nod. "Of course not. Why don't you read them now, then, and I'll keep them in my possession. For future reference."

Harry's gaze snapped up. "I thought you couldn't promise anything."

"There _is_ some medical information in those papers, and as I will be wholly responsible to keep you alive and well, prudence alone would dictate they be kept to hand." The Potions Master shrugged. "Sometimes I wonder how legalistic _Cambiare Podentes_ will actually be."

"Your précis sounded pretty legalistic to me."

"True, but that was before I began to consider us lovers, you understand. The spell was devised with lovers in mind, something I never gave a great deal of thought to at the outset." The Potions Master abruptly stopped talking, though he resumed after a brief pause. "This is a conversation we'll have to defer until after the invocation, but I will say one thing to you Harry. I would ask that you keep it in mind."

Harry waited a moment, then prompted, "The one thing?"

"Ah. It's simply this: I was in a decidedly bad frame of mind when I wrote that précis. I didn't care to invoke _Podentes,_ any more than you did, and it no doubt showed."

Harry dropped his mother's school record on the table. It was no use anyway. He could _read_ , but he couldn't really concentrate. Somehow he doubted that was due to some lingering effect of the Dragon's Happy. More likely, it was his anger roaring back. _I didn't care to invoke Podentes any more than you did..._ Well sure, Snape hadn't, not then. But as far back as that first backrub things had begun to change.

And he'd never bothered to so much as mention that fact to Harry.

"Well you sure as shite want to invoke it now, don't you?" he accused, gritting his teeth so hard it actually hurt. "You want what you'll be getting, you said you do!"

"Not the way you think, no."

"Oh, how the bloody hell would you even know what I think?"

The man merely looked at him, dark eyes gleaming. "After your drug-induced outbursts earlier? Quite a lot."

All at once his anger just seemed to shrivel up inside him. Just as well; it _was_ pointless, after all. They still had to invoke. Feeling utterly defeated, Harry walked to the enchanted window. The sun was setting over the lake now, blanketing the grassy hills with twilight, the whole scene peaceful in a way his own life had never, ever been.

He concentrated on the colours and shapes and tried to just get lost in them. To lose himself. Because then, he could probably do as the spell demanded and find a way to welcome a life of utter enslavement. Even to a man who wanted him.

When Snape spoke from right behind him, Harry jumped, startled.

"I don't think you comprehend what I'll be _getting,_ as you put it," the Potions Master softly said, his voice deep and sincere, the feel of it against his skin almost a caress. 

"Oh, yes I do," countered Harry in a thick voice. "We covered this already; don't you remember? Believe me, I know exactly what you have to do to me--"

"You don't know much at all, is what I'm beginning to realise." 

Harry felt strong hands grasp his shoulder, Snape making a slight jerking motion as though to turn him around, but in the end, deciding against it. 

"Harry, listen. You said earlier that I would get to fuck you as much as I like, and you would just have to take it. It's close to rape, what you're describing. And _Podentes_ has nothing whatsoever to do with rape, that much I _can_ promise. It's the nature of the spell itself to disdain the sort of arrangement you're describing." Snape paused, then went on in a softer tone still, "And what is more, I have no wish to fuck you, not the way you mean it. You're talking about me using you. But lovemaking is about shared pleasures, Harry. I've gone to some lengths to persuade you that you can indeed find pleasure in my arms. Has it all been for nothing?"

"I..." Harry swallowed, wondering why it suddenly seemed so difficult to breathe. "Um, I guess not. I mean, I'm sure I'll be able to feel pleasure at the invocation, anyway."

"I'm not talking about the invocation. I'm talking about the years we'll have together afterwards."

"Years." The mere word was likely to strangle him. "I need a shower--"

"In a moment. We'll finish this first. The way I touch you, Harry..." Snape moved a hand down to his hip, pressing his fingers insistently against the denim of his jeans, his touch suggestive... provocative, but somehow strangely restrained, as well. "The way I kiss you, kiss your neck..." He leaned in closer to speak right against Harry's ear. "Did you think that was all going to stop as soon as we'd invoked?"

"Uh..."

"Sweet Merlin, you _did_ ," Snape breathed, his tone of voice nothing short of appalled. "How could you think such a thing?"

"You made me think it," Harry snapped, defensive. "I didn't know you were enjoying... I thought you were bored out of your head half the time, but going through it for the invocation, because I have to be able to feel pleasure at your hand. But you never once acted like you thought it was good I _could_ , except as far as invoking goes--"

"Oh, yes I did!"

"Right, last night," Harry amended, his face flaming. "You said you liked the bite thing." Sighing, he turned around and tilted his face up. "To be honest, I didn't know what to make of that. It was the first time I'd even thought of you as... um, someone who might have a sex life at all."

Snape's features twisted into a sneer. "Oh, really. Perhaps you couldn't imagine that a man like me could ever induce another human being to touch him! Then why did you say on your first night down here that you'd heard I preferred men?"

"Because I had. But that doesn't mean I'd ever really _thought_ about it. I mean..." Harry shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "For God's sake, you were my _teacher!_ It was all sort of abstract, you know? I'd heard you liked men but it was sort of hard to imagine you doing anything about it! It'd be like thinking about your parents or something!"

Snape still looked angry enough to kill small creatures, but it didn't show in his voice, which emerged calm, if somewhat condescending. "You're impossibly young. And more innocent than I would have thought possible."

"Yeah, well I would have done something about that if you'd have _let_ me--"

The Potions Master growled low in his throat, the sound primal. "Just as well I did not _let_ you, though my reasons at the time were entirely practical. Now they're something more. I'll be the only one to ever touch you, and that's as it should be. I want your innocence, Harry. I want it all _mine._ "

Harry's teeth started to chatter. "Oh, shite. You _are_ going to want sex all the time, aren't you?"

A dry laugh split the air. "Probably."

Inside his pockets, Harry's fists clenched. "Why _tell_ me that??"

"Because you asked. Or would you prefer more lying, as you preferred to term it?" Snape's lips twisted. "I admit to deception but it wasn't ill-intentioned, Harry. I simply thought everything between us would proceed much more amicably if you didn't realise quite how you affect me."

"When were you planning to let me in on that charming fact?"

"After the invocation."

"Oh, isn't that a bloody wonderful timetable!"

"What it is, is completely immaterial!" Snape shook his head before continuing in a more moderate tone. "What matters is how we proceed from this point forward. You're expecting horrors in bed, I take it--"

"No, _no_ ," Harry interrupted, "I'm not. Well, not like I was before. Listen, I'm sorry I said that first Saturday here that you might be a sadist or something. That's obviously not true. And honestly, when I got a tad worried about your... uh, endowments, it wasn't because I thought you'd _try_ to use me roughly--"

"Listen to yourself. _Use_ you, you say. I _won't,_ is that clear? And to set your mind at rest, neither will you be some species of toy to me. Slave or not, _property_ or not, you'll still be my lover, and as for bed, what we do, we do together."

Harry blinked. "What are you doing? Because those are definitely promises."

"They are the natural product of the fact that the spell is for lovers," corrected Snape, smiling slightly. "Besides, I know you don't truly believe me, so there's not much danger of expectation, is there? I do assure you, however, that the pleasure you've known with me will not stop merely because we've invoked the spell."

"I don't see why not," Harry stubbornly argued. "I'll just be there to _serve your needs;_ you said so. I don't see why you'll have to give two hoots for what _I_ might want. All that'll matter is what you enjoy."

"And I," said Snape with glittering eyes, "enjoy your pleasure. Your _willing_ pleasure, Harry. _Podentes_ will put us into a highly unequal relationship but it will not alter the very nature of what it is that lovers _do._ "

Instead of blushing at that, Harry blanched. 

The sight seemed to communicate something to Snape. "You can't possibly understand," the Potions Master gruffly admitted. "In your place I doubt I would, either. And in your case I suspect the problem is compounded by the simple fact that you're trying _not_ to understand. Is that why you're so irate about my lying, as you put it? Because you'd rather be... _fucked_ , than face the prospect of truly making love with me?"

Harry didn't want to answer, but Snape's level gaze challenged him to. Or maybe it was the thread of pain he could hear in the question itself. "I... it was easier to contemplate, somehow. I know that doesn't make sense..."

"It does." Snape stepped away and turned his back. "Go have the bath you wanted. Or did you say shower? And when you come out, we'll say no more of these matters unless you wish further clarification. But I suspect you already have enough to contemplate."

 _Talk about understatement,_ Harry thought. "Um, I feel like I've been running a fever, you know, so I wanted to wash my hair and that shampoo really was a lot better than the soap--"

Snape spun around, his features exasperated. "Please don't now inform me that you think you need my leave to help yourself to it."

"No, I know you meant that _make yourself at home_ advice," Harry said, swallowing as he glanced around. _Home_ had always been such an odd concept for him. It was hard to believe he might end up with one that lasted more than nine months at a stretch. Not that he wanted this place for a home... "It's just that I don't know which one is the shampoo, all right? I know you showed me but I was trying not to look. At... er, anything. Plus I was nervous which doesn't ever do my memory much good."

Those black eyes weren't hard, not just then. "Harry, you are striking in every respect, and your body-- _all_ of your body, do you follow my meaning?--is wonderfully handsome. I can't see that you have any cause for nervousness whatsoever."

But Harry obviously did, for those very words made him feel so nervous that he heard himself blurting, "Yeah, Hermione said I wasn't exactly chopped liver--" The moment the words left his lips a feeling of utter horror washed over him. "Oh God, that doesn't mean what it sounds like. She hasn't seen me... uh, naked, I swear!"

Snape smiled slightly. "I don't expect she has, no." He began to walk toward his bedroom, beckoning Harry to follow. "I'll show you the shampoo and leave you to it. Though... are you certain you wish to use that particular one again? Considering what your friend Dobby charmed into it?"

Harry nodded. "At this point, anything that helps me relax would be good. I feel like I'm walking a tightrope and I might fall off any instant."

"Tightrope?"

To Harry's bemusement, he found he had to explain the term. 

Snape looked thunderstruck. "And you mean to say that _Muggles_ do this? They do this knowing full well they can't perform any levitation charms?"

"Well, most times they have a net in case they fall." Harry sighed, thinking back to the analogy. "Well, so do I, I guess. You have to be my net, Severus. Because nobody else is allowed to catch me if I fall, are they? I'm sorry to have whinged on so much today."

"Perhaps it was high time you did." Snape's nostrils flared, his gaze reflecting irritation, though it seemed directed inward. "Albus may have been correct about the value of an _open, honest relationship_ , as he mentioned to you. If you are upset I would rather know about it than not." With that, he took a triangular flask from a ledge in the shower and pressed it into Harry's hand, holding his fingers just a moment longer than was necessary.

"Even if you can't do anything about it?"

"Even then." Snape stared at Harry for a moment longer, then quietly turned on a heel and left him alone with his thoughts.


	28. Chapter 28

 

 

** Saturday, June 6, 1998 --- 7:35 p.m. **

"So," said Severus as he seated himself at the table in the dining alcove and waved for Harry to do likewise, "it seems you had an opportunity after your shower to read through your parents' school records? Did anything in them surprise you?"

Harry smiled a bit before he replied. Severus couldn't be sure if he was grateful for the introduction of a topic that lacked sexual overtones, or if he was just reminiscing over what he'd learned of his mother and father.

"It all surprised me," he remarked. "Hmm, well, I guess some parts didn't. My dad really did break a lot of rules, but I'd guessed that from the fact that he and Sirius had these mirrors... um, that they used to talk to each other when they were in separate detentions." Harry's smile widened. "I guess you'd have to earn a lot of detentions to need a thing like that. But still, seeing them all listed out like that, and some of the _reasons_..." He laughed out loud. 

It struck Severus as odd that Harry should be quite so relaxed, even considering the elf-supplied shampoo. Then again, he didn't know the young man all that well, did he? Perhaps looking back at his parents' days in school had helped him in ways Severus wasn't equipped to understand. What would it be like to grow up not merely an orphan, but in the care of people who lied to you about your parents' accomplishments? About their very nature? 

Perhaps, Severus reflected, it was no great wonder that Harry had little tolerance for those who deceived him. 

"Hmm, didn't know that he got banned from Quidditch too," mused Harry. "Just for a year though. Not for life, like me."

"Yours was hardly a ban for life when it was lifted the very next year."

"True." Harry glanced down as though expecting food to appear, but his mind was obviously still on past rather than present. "You know, I read everything twice but I still couldn't figure out what he'd done to get kicked off the team that season."

Severus did his very best not to glower. "I don't believe I care to discuss the matter."

"Oh..." Harry cleared his throat. "He... um, did something to you, I guess? I'm sorry."

"It's hardly your concern, let alone your fault."

Harry chewed his lower lip, white teeth nibbling away at pink flesh. Severus had to look away before the sight of that began to affect him. "Sure, but you know what Dumbledore said about an open, honest relationship? Maybe we should um... be more willing to talk about stuff. Even if it's uncomfortable. Like..." A blush crept up Harry's neck. "Your questions game. Parts of that were actually good."

Severus took it that he didn't mean the kissing parts. Not consciously, at any rate. It wasn't lost on him that the young man did in fact enjoy kissing him. Not that Harry would admit to that, even to himself. In time, though..."Would you like to play it again?"

A deeper blush, Harry actually gasping as his eyes glazed over slightly. Not with lust; it was nothing so overt at that. _Memory,_ Severus thought. _Pleasant memory._

"Why don't we just... uh, make a trade instead? You tell me what got my father kicked off Quidditch and then you can ask me one thing. Whatever you want, and I'll answer."

"It's not terribly good strategy to give me _carte blanche_ when I'm not giving you the same." The young man looked confused, so Severus clarified, "I know your question in advance but you have no idea what I might ask you."

Harry nodded. "Is it good strategy for you to point that out to me, though?"

" _Touché_."

"Right, so I think I'll just... um, see how trustworthy you are, then. See if you abuse the power."

There was more going on here, Severus suddenly sensed, than a mere exchange of questions. Harry was testing him. And uncomfortable about doing it, judging from the way he suddenly knocked on the table top much as if it were a door. "What's wrong with the elves tonight? Every other time we've sat down the food popped straight into existence."

An exaggeration, though the essence of the complaint was true enough. "I haven't requested any. I thought it was time you learned how, actually."

"Oh, all right." Harry leaned back in his chair. "Well? Are you not willing to trade?"

Severus wasn't terribly enthralled at the prospect of telling Harry the story behind James Potter's Quidditch ban, as it put neither himself nor Potter in a terribly favourable light. He was, however, rather intrigued by the offer Harry had made him.

Not the offer of a question, but the suggestion that he wanted to give Severus this tiny shard of power so that he could see what he would do with it. 

If Harry were a Slytherin, Severus would have suspected he'd thrown the suggestion out deliberately, since it was the one thing guaranteed to loosen Severus' tongue on the matter of James Potter's Quidditch ban. But Harry wasn't as cunning as that, surely. What Gryffindor was?

"I will... trade, as you put it." It still took Severus a long moment to figure out quite how to put the matter into words. "What you saw in the Pensieve that time was but childish horseplay compared to what followed. And some of that was my doing; I see that now. I reacted to Potter's taunts, I paid him back in kind for every cruel trick, which only escalated the rancour between us." Realising that his hands were shaking, Severus thrust them beneath the table, the cream damask tablecloth brushing against his wrists. 

Harry tracked the sudden motion with his gaze, and frowned. "Whatever he did must have been awful. It can't have been worse than Sirius tricking you into seeing Remus in his wolf form, can it? And when that happened my dad pulled you to safety, so the rancour can't have been all that bad..."

"Potter pulled me free partly because he understood, even if your idiot godfather didn't, that Lupin was going to end up just as much a victim as I were something not done to stave off my death." Severus sighed. "And he pulled me free partly in recompense for the horrid thing he'd already done, I suppose."

Harry's Adam's apple bobbed as he waited to hear the rest.

" _Infertilis,_ " said Severus in a low tone. "Your father made it certain that I myself could not father a child."

"Oh, _God._ " Harry pulled in a deep breath, and then another. "That's pretty bad, but it was reversible though, right? Oh no. It _wasn't?_ "

Severus shrugged. "Your father was a very powerful wizard, and he didn't always think before he acted, especially when he was angry. And at that precise moment in time, he was incensed indeed."

"I'm sorry."

"Again, the sentiment is misplaced. It was not your doing, though I will admit that the incident has come to mind a few times when I've caught you acting in flagrant disregard of the rules."

Harry flushed and glanced away. "Have you seen a specialist-- never mind, of course you have. I am so, so sorry."

That time, Severus ignored the apology rather than point out how unneeded one was. From Harry, at least. Though come to think of it, James had apologised a fair number of times himself. Not that Severus had been willing to listen.

"Can I ask..." Harry flicked his gaze up at Severus but quickly looked away again. "Um, you mentioned escalation. Not that you could possibly have deserved what my father did, but... I would sort of like to know if anything drove him to it. I mean, the thing that happened right after your O.W.L... he did _that_ with basically no provocation at all. Was this curse more of the same?"

"I would say your father had cause." Severus waited until Harry looked at him. "The circumstances were somewhat complex, and before I discuss them I must have your promise that you will not wilfully misunderstand what I am about to tell you. You must believe me when I assert certain things as truth. _You must._ Or I cannot tell you more."

Harry slowly nodded. "I... all right. Whatever it is, it sounds important."

"No, it's not important in the least." Severus settled his hands atop the table once more. "In retrospect it all seems ridiculous to me, except the final result, of course. The only thing of import is that you not acquire a highly inaccurate concept of my relationship with your parents."

"I won't."

Severus knew he was taking a risk in trusting to that promise. But more trust between them was likely what they needed. Harry was certainly showing some in him, even if he did mean it as a test. "Very well then. You recall that at the end of what you saw that time in Albus' pensieve, your mother made a rather contemptuous remark about me? I felt... humiliated, by what she had said as much as by your father's horrid behaviour. I felt they deserved something they would both find ghastly beyond belief. That summer, I brewed a very powerful potion. An illegal potion. I could have been dismissed from school for so much as possessing, let alone using it, but I was angry enough to pay that no mind. When the following school year commenced, I used some rather Slytherin means to slip this potion into your mother's juice one morning. You must understand, Harry. I did not wantthe results of what the potion would do, except insofar as it would constitute a grand revenge. I knew it would drive Potter insane with fury. As indeed it did, as my condition attests to this day." 

A long pause ensued, during which Severus half-expected the young man to guess as to the nature of the potion Severus had given Lily on that autumn morning all those years ago. But Harry was merely leaning back in his chair, his green gaze steady on Severus. 

"It was a lust philtre keyed to me," Severus admitted, feeling the weight of his action like never before. "It made her go half-mad with desire. And Potter saw."

The young man's jaw clenched. "Are you trying to tell me that you slept with my _mother?_ "

"I did not. Nor did I wish to, even when it was quite clear to staff and students alike that she was mine for the taking. This is the point I wanted to be sure you not misunderstand, Harry. I never once found myself attracted in the least to Lily Evans. In point of fact, I was by then already quite well aware of my own preference for wizards. I didn't want her; all I wanted was to get even with the both of them."

"And then he cursed _you_ to get even more even."

"Also, I believe, because he worried that things might get out of hand and Lily would become pregnant."

"Oh, God."

"Yes. Your father saw the situation in far more dire terms than I did. But of course he would. Not only was he not privy to my intentions, but... _ah_ , I also spent the six weeks the philtre lasted taunting him with the spectre of babies with my nose and her eyes. It all got to be too much for him, but since I'd modified the original philtre to mask its very existence in her system, his pleas to have me removed from her vicinity fell on deaf ears. And nobody save myself knew that the effects of the potion were relatively short-lived. Your father thought Lily's fixation on me might last years, and I rather encouraged him in that. I--" Here Severus coughed slightly. "I insisted that it was true love on her part and implied that it was only a matter of time before her advances grew too... amorous for me to withstand."

Harry looked a bit pole axed after all that, Severus thought. "So he cast _Infertilis_ on you, and...?"

"Yes. It felt as though my privates had been soaked through with acid. I doubled over but still managed to hex him back; I can't recall with what. A pair of professors managed to put an end to it, and after due deliberation, your father lost his Quidditch privileges for the balance of the year."

"That's all he got?"

"Hmm, well by the time his punishment was being decided, your mother had emerged from the pull of the philtre and could speak of feeling drawn to me against her will. It was all quite clear by then that I must have somehow hexed her, though as nothing could be proven I escaped punishment. Or rather, _further_ punishment. I believe everyone concerned believed I'd been penalised enough already by your father's rash spell casting. And as for him..." Severus sighed. "I resented the lightness of his punishment for a long while. But he had in fact been severely provoked, and the truth of the matter is that he thought the curse could be reversed. In his haste to protect your mother, he didn't do his research properly. Not that he ever did, you understand. Your father was accustomed to getting by on a combination of charisma and sheer wizarding talent."

The young man sitting opposite blew a long breath out. "I... I had no idea he'd ever done anything like..."

"Mmm, the records of the incident don't go into details as I had no particular wish for my affliction to become common knowledge. I still don't, so I would ask that you not speak of it to anyone."

Harry nodded his agreement. "I can't believe you didn't kill him for a thing like that!"

"The thought did cross my mind," admitted Severus with a slight rasp to his voice. "But it was far more gratifying watching your father fall all over himself trying to make it up to me. As if he ever could. I mention that, however, so you'll see his actions in context, Harry. He really was quite struck with regret when he realised what he had done. He... grew up, is I suppose the correct phrase. And the truly ironic part is that Lily, who could barely stand him up until then, fell in love with the more mature version of your father that emerged from the whole fiasco."

"So it _wasn't_ his money or his pure blood that attracted her!" 

Severus grimaced. That really had been a terrible thing to say. "I'm quite sure you didn't believe that of your mother."

"Why wouldn't I?" Harry's gaze was cool, though anger lurked in the depths of his eyes. "It's not as though I ever knew her, or had heard good things about her as I was growing up. But if you didn't mean it then what _was_ that? Just one more way to hurt me?"

"I'd hoped anger would snap you out of that submissive façade you'd adopted." Severus smiled a bit ruefully. "However; honesty proved far more efficacious than insult. Despite all my machinations, you put your false slavishness aside only when I explained my concerns as to the invocation."

"Yeah, well speaking of honesty..." Harry looked away. "It wasn't false, Severus. You said I was trying to keep from giving you the real _me_ , but that wasn't it. I mean, I wasn't trying to put on an act. I was just... upset at the way my life was going to turn out."

Severus remembered then... Harry denying there had been any façade, looking confused at the suggestion, even. It had made Severus angry; he'd thought the young man was playing at something.

But he hadn't been; Severus saw that, now.

And seeing it, something twisted inside him. 

"I don't doubt your sincerity," he said, thinking he'd best make that clear from the start, especially considering that the last time they'd discussed the matter, he'd all but called Harry a liar. "But neither do I understand. You were upset, yes... but I've seen you deal with terrible stress before. And loss, and grief. It's never taken that form."

The young man shrugged and met his eyes again. "Well, it does sometimes. You'd have known that if you'd ever seen me while I was stuck at the Dursleys. Well, the last couple of summers at least. Since I knew why I had to go there... that it was so that I'd stay alive to do my duty. The only way I could seem to get through it was by sort of... disconnecting."

 _Perhaps Harry is merely starting his summer early,_ Severus remembered Albus saying. He almost sighed; meddlesome old man had been right again. "As the spell we're going to invoke is one more case of an extreme measure to keep you alive so that you can... yes, I see the parallel. I suppose it's not terribly surprising that you decided the same technique would be of use with me."

"I didn't decide," Harry denied. "Well, not like that, like I planned it out. It's just... well, my family hates me, right? But I'm stuck with them. Or I was, I mean. I guess now _Podentes_ will supersede the blood wards? Yeah, I thought so, considering what you wrote about how I have to be completely dependent on you. Didn't seem like I'd be allowed to call that house _home_ any longer. Not that I want to. For that matter, I doubt they'd want me staying there after I'm through with school, anyway."

Severus didn't usually care much for rambling, though in this case it was proving helpful. Still, he did feel Harry had drifted rather a long way from the point. "So you fell into that awful _mindlessness_ because...?"

Harry's lips curled strangely, the expression reminiscent of a smile but somehow conveying sorrow rather than delight. "That's what I do, I guess. When I'm stuck having to deal with someone who hates me. It's just easier to... _not_ deal with them. It's like... well, _mindlessness_ isn't such a bad description, actually. I stop thinking and just do what I'm told. Saved a lot of arguments with the Dursleys. Didn't work with you, though."

"Perhaps the difference there is that they actually do hate you."

Harry's lips curled further at that. "And you don't? Do I look that thick?"

"You look..." Severus broke away from that thought and started over. "It's a bit much for you to assert so casually that I must still hate you, Harry. If that were true, I couldn't want you the way I do."

Harry, he noticed, looked quickly away, but not before Severus caught a flash of calculation in those green eyes. Ah... so the young man had thrown out his questions like bait... to see what he might catch. That was rather interesting. 

And now, it looked as though Harry had caught more than he'd expected. A dull red flush was creeping up his neck to stain his cheeks. By then, Severus was rather used to the sight. He wondered how long it would take for Harry to lose his habit of blushing. 

Embarrassment, though, wasn't enough to stop Harry's inquisitive nature. "Sure you could. You're in it for the power."

"As I recall, you're the one destined to increase in power."

"Yeah, but you get control over it, all the same. And control over me." Harry glanced scornfully his way. "You're a Slytherin. For that much power, you'd sleep with anyone, wouldn't you?"

Snape steepled his fingers together and reminded himself that deceit, however convenient it might prove, wasn't truly in his best interest. Just as Harry would rather be _fucked_ than make love, he'd obviously rather believe that Severus' desire was in actuality something else. 

It was all very depressing.

Irritating, in fact.

However, the young man was an eighteen-year-old virgin who believed himself to be attracted only to women. Obviously Harry's sexual preferences were more complex than that, but Severus thought he was probably the only one who knew as much, Harry included. And when all things were considered, Harry's ignorance about himself was easy to comprehend. The young man had said it himself: Black's death had made him withdraw from relationship and romance. 

These rationalisations were probably to be expected. 

And the right response... Severus sighed. An open, honest relationship meant exposure of his true self, something Severus habitually avoided. He'd never been comfortable sharing himself, except in the physical sense. Albus knew him very well, of course, but that was due more to the old man's keen insight than to anything Severus had ever done or said. 

_Keen insight and Legilimency,_ Severus thought, a bit cynically. Perhaps more of the latter than the former.

But no matter. What was important now was to build the kind of relationship _Podentes_ expected. One for lovers; one based on trust. He'd already given Harry too much cause to distrust him, so there was nothing left to do now but admit the truth. The full truth, even though parts of it were assuredly not what the young man would want to hear.

"You are correct, I suppose, that for enough power I could be intimate with someone I hated. There are spells, charms, potions... to enable performance even when one's heart--so to speak--isn't in it." Harry nodded, the motion a trifle smug. Well, that would change quickly enough once Severus resumed speaking. "However, when it comes to you I have resorted to a potion that _represses_ my erection. That ought to tell you that your potential for power is _not_ the only thing attracting me."

The rosy colour animating Harry's cheeks deepened to cherry.

Severus wasn't sure whether to find that encouraging or not, but he was aware that on some level, Harry didn't believe that his former professor _could_ truly want him. And perhaps after years of insults, that too, was only to be expected. Severus wasn't so great a fool as to think that his many slurs could be undone with a few trite words, but it would certainly be a start. Of course he'd been quite honest earlier that day about Harry's wonderful face and body, but perhaps none of that had sunk in, considering the Dragon's Happy.

"Allow me to share the things about you that most attract me," Snape said, his voice softening to a tone as smooth as velvet. He would have thought it would prove difficult, to speak so openly... because _this_ was exposure, wasn't it? The admission of his own raw need... But it wasn't difficult, once he began speaking. Perhaps the compliments he'd given earlier had opened up something inside him, something he'd repressed for far too long. "Your eyes, Harry. I don't wear any colour save black, as a rule, so you've no doubt little idea quite how much I adore green. But your eyes, Harry, are no mere _green_. They are shade layered upon shade, light hues and dark, emerald rivers running in rivulets through irises underlain with sage--"

"Stop it!" Harry shouted, actually lifting his palms up to cover his ears. 

An immature reaction, to say the least. But then again, Harry was quite startlingly immature in some ways, though he was old before his time in others. A perplexing combination. The more Severus really got to know Harry, the less he thought he understood.

But that was an improvement, surely. When using a new potions ingredient he'd rather know for certain that he had things to learn, than rely on inaccurate data and reap disaster. 

Harry kept his hand clapped over his ears for a moment, then lowered them as he narrowed his eyes. "Can I trust you?"

Again, Severus thought there was more to that question than just the surface meaning Harry was focussed on. "Yes, you can trust me." Pity Harry could, really. Now that Severus had gotten started, part of him was tempted to wax poetic about a few other things he liked about Harry Potter.

 _How the world does change,_ he ruefully reflected. "Back to this matter of _hate_ ," he said, thinking it best to lay that to rest once and for all. "I think it was more your father I hated, than you yourself. To put it simply, he was out of reach, and you made a convenient substitute. But... as I told you earlier today, I have indeed come to understand that you aren't James, Harry. And though you and I have had our own differences--"

"Master of understatement, aren't you? And don't you dare gloss the past seven years over. I know full well you hated _me_. Not my dad, _me._ "

Severus could hardly deny it. "Yes, at times I did. Just after the Dark Lord rose again, for example. I was under pressure from Albus and the Dark Lord both to obtain information, and quite frankly, your refusal to apply yourself to Occlumency only made my position all the more difficult and precarious. And then the matter of the pensieve ensued, which hardly helped." Severus lifted his shoulders. "But now you are in my care, and this has of necessity altered how I see you. I am no longer... indifferent to your desires and well-being. And moreover, seeing you so clearly as your own person and not a reincarnation of James... I do not hate you, no."

"So you finally grew up as well," Harry murmured. "But that thing about James... Do you really think that if he hadn't cursed you with _Infertilis_ , he wouldn't have matured enough to attract my mother?"

"I do think that, yes. And so my lack of any hope for a child appears to have led directly to his having one." Severus shrugged, the old hurt not nearly as sharp as it had once been. For him, at least. Something about the comment obviously bothered Harry, who started biting his lip. "What?"

Harry shook his head, his hair flying out at all angles.

"Now who is denying the value of an open, honest relationship?" mocked Severus. He knew the question was underhanded in the extreme, considering his own behaviour... but he wanted to know what was bothering the young man.

Harry glared, but then he sighed. "Sins of the fathers, that's what."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's from the Bible."

"Oh. _That_." Severus gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "Yes, I'm familiar. Well, vaguely. _Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live_ has caused quite a bit of trouble in centuries past. And some today would still hold to the precept. But... do you mean to say you had some sort of--pardon the oxymoron--religious education inflicted on you during your formative years?"

Well, that question certainly lightened the mood. Harry laughed. "No, thank God." 

Severus smiled, the humour not lost on him. "Then why are you quoting this Bible?"

"Because that part was quoted at me until I was blue in the face," Harry retorted, his own smile fading. "The sins of the father will visit the children to the third and fourth generation, that was it. And Aunt Marge would usually follow that up with _bad blood will out..._ Anyway, it was my family's way of saying I was destined to be worthless since that's all my alcoholic unemployed father ever was."

"Your... _who?_ "

"My alcoholic unemployed father," Harry repeated. "Not that he was. I get that fine, have for years. But not back then. But what you said... it just gave me the creeps. Took me back, that's all."

Severus thought for a moment, but was still at a loss. "What did I say?"

"He--James, I mean--cursed you not to have a child." Harry looked down at the tablecloth. "And... well, that meant he regretted it and grew up, so my mum fell for him, and they had me, and Vol-- the Dark Lord marked me his equal, and now here I am, about to put myself under _Podentes_... and it all lines up. I can't have sex with anyone but you, so I'll never have a child, either. The sins of the father..."

"I understand," Severus murmured. He did, though he was more at a loss than before. "Ah... I confess I'd never considered that particular consequence of _Podentes_. Do... do you want a child?"

Harry shrugged. "Honestly? I've never thought about it."

Severus gave a brisk nod. "To go back to your father's crime against me, Harry. Whatever its other consequences, it did in fact ensure that you would exist. I shudder to think what prospects the wizarding world would have if Longbottom had been the only child born as the seventh month died."

Harry blinked several times in succession. "It would be Neville sitting here right now!"

Severus narrowed his eyes. "I think not. _He_ would not have survived his first encounter with the Dark Lord."

"Neville's stronger than you think," protested Harry. "And a whole lot smarter. It would have come to this... but with Neville as the supplicant."

The Potions Master shuddered. "Just as well it's not. That's not to say I can forgive your father, you understand. What I did to Lily was transitory, and she suffered no true harm except humiliation, which in my view she thoroughly deserved. But what James Potter did to me was truly inexcusable."

"I guess... I mean, it _was_. I know it was. But on the other hand, you weren't ever going to have children anyway, right? I mean, considering your inclinations?"

 _Such innocence._ Not that Severus was objecting, these days. He rather liked that... found it intensely exciting, in fact, though he managed not to say so. "Inclinations aside, there are ways.. Magic would be required, but..." He broke off because Harry had gone positively pasty. "What?"

"Umm. I never really believed him before, but Ron sort of says that with enough magic, a wizard could, you know, make it so a baby would grow inside him?"

Severus drew his brows together, wishing one Ronald Weasley were in the room so he could knock some sense into his head. Then again, that was probably as impossible as this daft idea of a male pregnancy. "There are legends of strange happenings," he corrected. "In every culture; ours is no exception. But there is actually no such thing as any magic that can make a wizard conceive a child, let alone carry it to term."

"Oh, good." Harry practically slumped with relief, a reaction Severus could make no sense of. "For a minute there you had me kind of worried."

"About?"

At that, Harry blushed so hot that Severus could feel it from across the table. "Um..." The young man averted his eyes. "Well, you sounded a little bit... wistful, so I thought maybe what you were leading up to was that _Infertilis_ or no, you were planning to find a way and make me... uh..."

"No." Severus shook his head, then for good measure reached across the unset table to catch Harry's hand in his. "I wasn't leading up to anything with my remarks. As I recall, you were the one who pressed me to speak of the incident. But no, there is no question of my making you do any such thing. It simply is not possible."

"Then what did you mean that there _are ways?_ "

"Ah. Well, I am not naturally drawn to witches as you know, but in order to get one with child should I have wished, there are ways to force the requisite erection and ejaculation." Severus tightly controlled his features, but from the look on Harry's face, suspected that he didn't do enough to mask his distaste at the mere thought of intimacies with a woman.

Harry nodded. "All right, I understand the whole thing. Thanks for answering so fully. I can't say I much like the picture I get of my dad here, but that's not your fault. It helps, anyway, to understand more about why you grimaced when you first looked at me." He pulled his hands free and lifted one of them in a wave. "So you ask your question and then I guess you'll show me how to make the elves deliver us some food?"

"Yes," Severus answered absently, his mind already sifting possible inquiries. Something he wanted to know, but nothing terribly daunting for Harry. This was Severus' opportunity to show he would not misuse the power he'd been offered. As far as Severus was concerned, that made it a prelude to the rest of their lives.

 _What was it like growing up with those awful Muggles?...._ No, too intrusive. Recent revelations aside, Harry had made it clear he would prefer not to speak of his family. To Severus, at least. Hermione Granger seemed to be his confidante in any number of realms. Severus suddenly wondered what the girl might know.

 _Have you truly decided against us engaging in any stretching play, or was that just your fury talking?_ No, too demanding. Severus had sworn to himself when he'd made the offer that he'd leave that decision entirely up to Harry, which meant he was resolved to not so much as mention it. Until he had to, that was. There would come a night after which it could not be postponed any longer.

 _Is there nothing about me that you can admit is to your liking?_ No, too direct. Harry's certain answer to that would be a resounding _no._ Severus didn't see how it would do him any good to hear it. Besides, he knew, even if Harry truly didn't, that there _were_ things about him that the young man found intriguing, to say the least.

Smiling a little bit, Severus was never so grateful that he'd thought, early on, to start his evenings by spelling away the anti-fume potion he habitually applied to his hair. 

"These mirrors you mentioned Black and your father using during their frequent detentions," he finally settled for asking. "Would those have anything to do with the broken mirror you put on your list of possessions?"

Harry's green eyes filmed over with sadness. With a pain so acute, Severus abruptly sensed, that it was very rarely given voice. _I killed Sirius,_ he remembered the young man saying, and could have cursed. He should have known better than to ask about anything connected, however remotely, to Black. 

"Yeah, that mirror is one of the pair. It might even be the one that belonged to James, which I suppose would make it bloodline property, so it's just as well that I planned to give it to you." Harry's easy tone belied the suspicious wetness in his eyes. "Aren't you going to ask how it got broken?"

Severus hadn't been going to ask anything else at all, but it seemed to him that Harry wanted to speak of it, so he simply nodded in answer.

"I smashed it after Sirius died."

People in the throes of grief did odd things indeed; Severus knew that. Still, the image that called to mind just couldn't be reconciled with what he knew of Harry Potter, a young man who cherished what little he still had from his family, who had, without a doubt, considered Black family. "Why?" he asked, the need to know overcoming his reluctance to press for details that were no doubt painful. 

Harry sat up straighter, his features suggesting stoicism, though the suffering green of his eyes told the truth. He wanted to cut himself off from whatever was hurting him so very much. He longed for just that. But he had loved Black too well to ever manage that. "Because I had it that day, the day he died. I had it, and he had the other, and I could have used it to contact him and see that he was all right, that he _wasn't_ in the Ministry building being tortured. But I didn't _know_ I had it. It was a present, and I never unwrapped it, so I didn't know what I had! And he died because I didn't have a way to check on him! Except, I _did._ "

Severus felt his own throat tighten listening to that. He'd known that Harry blamed himself for Black's death, but he hadn't known how much cause the young man had for self-reproach. "This matter of the mirror is a terrible burden, I am sure, but it does not change what I told you before. Bellatrix killed your godfather; you did not."

"As good as," Harry muttered. "If only I'd unwrapped the stupid thing!"

Actually, that was the part that puzzled Severus. "I am sure you must have had sound reasons for holding the present in reserve."

"Yeah, I did," said Harry. "I _thought_ I was protecting him. He was supposed to stay in hiding but I knew... oh, never mind. It's complicated. Can we eat now?"

Taking the hint, Severus nodded and began instructing Harry in the use of the charmed table. 

  
  
  
  


** Saturday, June 6, 1998 --- 8:17 p.m. **

Harry didn't believe that grilled ham-and-cheese sandwiches with chips were really the Potions Master's style, so when Snape told him to say what he wanted for each of them, Harry tried to think of something a bit more refined to request. With Snape staring at him with those dark eyes of his, though, it was like his brain went somewhere to hide. Or maybe it hid because he hadn't had a bite of real food since breakfast. He definitely didn't count the potion ingredients. Harry was so hungry that he couldn't think of anything fancy to order.

He finally gave up and just talked, his wand tapping both his place and Snape's as he announced the meal, only to have Snape quietly remind him about drinks.

There was no way he was going to try to order wine, not when he'd just muck it up. Besides, he wasn't sure what went well with cheddar cheese. Snape would probably know, but Harry didn't particularly feel like asking. Actually, what he felt by then was a bit of resentment, because Snape had made him choose the meal, and now he'd probably proceed to ridicule Harry's _rather uninspired palate_.

"Coca-Cola," he demanded, wand slapping twice against the table. He saw Snape wince, no doubt at the misuse of a fine wand. Or maybe at the order. Harry really couldn't tell.

The elves were pretty quick, though there was a lull of about a minute, during which Snape mentioned that it was possible to announce the menu in advance and ask for it to be served when one sat down to dine. He also explained how to make the meal arrive in courses, should one wish.

Harry wondered if that was a rather pointed hint that he should have thought of a more elaborate meal.

The food appeared, but it wasn't quite how Harry had envisioned it. The sandwiches weren't made with cheddar but with some pale creamy cheese that had sort of browned at the edges, and what was more, each was topped with a _fried egg_. They didn't get Coca-Cola at all, but tall narrow glasses of water.

At least the chips were normal, but even they came with little pots of mayonnaise flecked with herbs. Garlic mayonnaise, from the aroma.

"I'm afraid the house-elves can't readily procure modern Muggle products," Snape explained as he sipped at his drink.

Harry was more than a little surprised that was all he had to say on the subject. He'd half-expected a lecture on the brainlessness of thinking that the Hogwarts larders would possibly include soft drinks. Not that Harry had really thought they did. He'd just been irritated and starving and not thinking. 

"I was actually thinking cheddar," Harry said, trying to pretend he was having dinner with a friend. "Though that doesn't explain the egg. I've sometimes thought the elves can read minds when it comes to things like food but I guess whoever whipped this up was tired or something."

Snape picked up his knife and fork--a full complement of flatware had arrived along with the food--and cut a precise square off his sandwich. "They can't read minds _per se_ , though they observe us more carefully than you would think and take their cues from that. As for the sandwiches..." One side of his mouth twitched. "Each is a _croque-madame_." Snape lifted his fork and took a rather reverent bite. "Lovely Gruyere. My guess would be that the elves knew you were speaking from here and prepared the food with me in mind."

"Well, I like that!" Harry exclaimed. "It was my order!"

"But they don't know your tastes nearly as well as mine. For the time being you should likely be more specific when you ask for something. They'll quickly come to understand what you want."

 _So you're going to let me order again..._ Well, of course he was. Snape would hardly have taught him how to use the table if he'd planned for Harry to never use it. A peculiar feeling stole over Harry, then. He wasn't quite sure what it was, though it seemed to prick at his nerve endings, demanding attention. Maybe it had to do with the fact that he'd been bracing himself for lean times. Even after Snape had made it rather clear that he wasn't so hard-hearted as to begrudge Harry food, Harry had still been a bit wary about the matter. Too many years with the Dursleys, always feeling that gnawing edge of hunger eating away at his innards. 

Too many years learning to distrust dependence and avoid it whenever possible. 

But here was Snape making sure he could obtain food for himself, whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, as much as he liked. He wouldn't even have to traipse out to the kitchens for it. Actually the kitchens would probably be off-limits once he was Snape's slave. But that wouldn't matter so much... though he would miss the chance to see Dobby on occasion.

As it turned out, the _croque-madame_ was delicious, though it certainly did look bizarre to Harry. He set to eating, using his knife and fork as Snape was, though Harry ate his chips with his hands. Snape noticed that, Harry knew, but he didn't comment.

Ever since he'd had so much trouble trying to imagine an H shape, Harry had been meaning to ask something. It kept slipping away from him... too many other things to think about, he supposed. But once his plate had been cleared it came to him again.

"About the invocation ceremony," he said, catching Snape's gaze. "Unless the Dragon's Happy ends up very muted by the potion it's in, I can't see how the contract thing can work at all."

Setting down his fork, Snape appeared to give the matter some serious thought. "I suppose it's symbolic in a sense. You aren't allowed to negotiate the terms, as I mentioned, but if you experience difficulty reading you'll have to sign it in blind faith."

Harry actually had been thinking of something else, but that bore some discussion. "Hmm. Well, _your_ potion doesn't contain Dragon's Happy, does it? Think you could read it out loud to me so I'd know what I'm signing?"

Snape shook his head. "That would be a significant departure from the rite as described. Most unwise. Moreover, I am not allowed to dismiss the witnesses until the ritual meal has been completed. There is no way to know how... _ah,_ specific the contract may prove to be about intimate matters. The terms will be drawn from my subconscious, you understand. You have a sense now, I think, of how fiercely I want you--"

"Yeah, got it," Harry interrupted, flushing red. "The effing contract might say things I'd prefer Mr Weasley not hear."

"As it might say things I'd prefer Albus not hear," Snape returned.

Feeling suddenly far too hot, Harry drew out his wand and spelled the air around him to drop a few degrees in temperature. Snape didn't say anything about it, but then again, he wouldn't, if he'd meant that _make yourself at home_ bit. Which Harry figured by then that he had.

That prickly feeling raised the hairs on his arms again. He knew he ought to be glad that Snape wasn't being as unbearable as he could, but it was still hard to feel comfortable making the dungeons his home. He didn't want to be stuck down there day and night, hiding for fear that somebody might realise he was still at Hogwarts. But he was going to have to hide, right? Because otherwise there'd be too many questions raised.

Questions they couldn't afford until Voldemort was dead and buried. Or dead and gone, at least. As Harry wasn't sure what he had to do to kill the snakelike bastard, he didn't know if there'd be anything left to bury.

"Fine, I'll sign the contract on _blind faith_ ," he finally said, a long sigh collapsing his chest. "That wasn't what I was wondering about, anyway. It's the signing itself that worries me. What if it's like today and I can't write?"

"If you _want_ to sign it, you'll find yourself doing it, even though you might not at that moment be able to otherwise write."

"That makes a hell of a lot of sense." Harry studied Snape's hooded eyes. "Are you sure or is that a guess?"

"It's a deduction. As _Podentes_ has been invoked on several occasions, Dragon's Happy can't completely exclude a signature if the spell requires one."

"I guess," Harry said, morose. "Well, what about this idea that the terms will be drawn from your subconscious? What if the terms are something I can't do? I mean, something physically impossible, like I have to breathe underwater?"

"At least this time you won't have to steal the requisite Gillyweed."

Harry glared. "Ha, very funny. I didn't steal it _then_ , for your information. But I was serious. Isn't the subconscious supposed to be a pretty wild place? Where dreams come from? And dreams can be... uh, whacked out. What if the contract's terms are as well?"

"I rather think my own potion is designed to clarify thoughts as it has no fewer than four ingredients designed to temporarily heighten mental powers."

Harry shoved his plate aside though his meal was only half-eaten. "Yeah, but what if you still dream up something completely--"

"It will not happen." Snape tapped the table and spoke in flowing French, which startled Harry until a bottle of fine wine appeared along with two crystal glasses. "The relaxing effects of that shampoo appear to have diminished considerably since your shower. Why don't you have a glass or two before we adjourn to see to... other matters?"

Nodding, the motion jerky, Harry poured out a measure for himself and another for Snape. "I... um, you know, I was sort of hoping we could have a night off..."

"We will have one tomorrow," Snape said in a mild tone, one eyebrow raised. 

"Yeah, all right," muttered Harry. He hadn't really expected the Potions Master to agree, after all. At least the man didn't seem annoyed over the mere suggestion. 

Harry drank his wine and when Snape refilled his glass, drained it yet again. "So, what's on the agenda for tonight?"

That dark gaze seemed to pierce right through him. "Surely you can guess. I've been trying to ensure you become familiar with all phases of the invocation. Intimate phases, that is. What yet remains?"

 _Oh, God._ "The bath," Harry whispered. All of a sudden, his hands needed something to do. But there was nothing handy except the wine, so he poured himself a third glass of that and quaffed it. 

Snape nodded, though it wasn't lost on Harry that the man moved the wine bottle out of reach. 

"Maybe I need to get drunk to get through it. Ever think of that?" he heard himself snipe.

"Definitely, excess alcohol consumption makes you belligerent," returned Snape. "Were you any less innocent you'd know that it also makes... culmination difficult to achieve."

"Think you could stop harping on my innocence?"

A small smile curled Snape's lips. "Very well. But yes, what I had in mind was to bathe together and practice for the seventeenth. Don't look so daunted. It's not as though you've yet to see me in the altogether, or I you."

Harry swallowed. "Um, right. But er...the way I understand it you were using your, er, impotence potion then, so I didn't exactly see... uh, much." 

The minute he said it, he braced himself for a sarcastic rejoinder. _At the time, as I recall, you felt you'd seen a bit too much, hadn't you?_

But Snape, as it turned out, had more class than to remind Harry so callously of that fall in the shower, or the tense conversation that had followed. Not that _class_ was an adjective Harry had ever had much cause to associate with Snape before. This was, after all, the man who had actually _spat_ once when Slytherin had lost a Quidditch match.

But he was also a man who ordered French wines without batting an eyelash and could recognise a thing like Gruyere cheese. Who spoke several languages fluently and owned what seemed like thousands of books. Who'd insisted Harry learn to climax at his touch, but left it to Harry to decide about _fingers_.

"Given how arousing I find the sight of you," Snape merely said, "your seeing me in an excited state will be simply unavoidable over the long term. You may as well come to terms with the matter."

"Yeah, what is, _is_." Well, he'd just _had_ a bath a couple of hours earlier, but he knew better than to mention that. Snape already knew, anyway. It was on the tip of his tongue to say something about how pruny his fingers were going to get with all this soaking, but that would just be stupid, so Harry managed to quell the impulse.

In fact, he didn't speak at all. He just pushed his chair back from the table and made his way towards the bathroom.


	29. Chapter 29

 

 

** Saturday, June 6, 1998 --- 9:07 p.m. **

Harry was a little surprised when Snape didn't immediately follow him. 

Then again, he'd let him start that shower on his own, too. It was a form of consideration, Harry supposed... allowing him time alone to get undressed. Time enough, as it turned out, to start the water and fill the sunken tub almost to the brim. Harry even threw in some shampoo to make suds. Dubby's special shampoo, just as he'd done for his bath earlier. This time, though, nervousness and a certain drunken carelessness had him upending the flask to dump every last drop of shampoo under the water cascading into the tub. For some reason, the act struck him as funny.

His giggling died off soon enough though, as Harry was left to do nothing but wait for his soon-to-be owner to come in and use him. _Yeah... use him,_ he thought, antagonism stealing in to drown every last trace of humour. Because that's what it was, wasn't it? Snape was going to handle him intimately, and he was going to enjoy the sight and sound and feel of what he had the power to do to Harry. No matter that there was pleasure in it for Harry himself. There wasn't a choice, and that made all the difference in the world.

Of course, it wasn't strictly Snape's fault that there wasn't a choice. He was as caught by prophecy as was Harry himself.

 _But he likes being caught, these days, _Harry thought with more than a little bitterness. _And isn't that like a Slytherin? He can't do anything to change the dictates of the prophecy, so he decides he'll get what he can out of it. And what he'll get is nothing short of me, so he suddenly decides that I don't look like my father and I'm not such an ugly, scrawny runt, after all! _

Harry laughed again then, but it was the sound of black despair instead of humour. It wasn't too hard, when all was said and done, to figure out why Snape had pronounced Harry _exquisite_ , of all things! He _would_ be saying the same of Neville, or anybody else he might have had to have to shove it to. Because from a Slytherin perspective, there was no point in suffering under the prophecy, was there? Might as well have a good time as not.

Now, if only Harry were a little more Slytherin, maybe he could adopt the same viewpoint and save himself a lot of grief. But that just wasn't to be. It had been seven long years since the Sorting Hat had made its startling offer. Seven years in which Harry had tried his best to live down that awful blot on his soul, the idea that he might have belonged in Slytherin.

He'd probably turned out to be more Gryffindor than anyone else in his house, even if he hadn't started out that way, because he'd taken what the Sorting Hat had said as a warning.

By the time Snape finally came through the open doorway --Harry hadn't bothered closing it as he wasn't going to go along with some _illusion_ of privacy-- there were suds and bubbles enough that the Potions Master basically couldn't see anything of Harry's body. That didn't matter to Harry, though. He'd worked himself too far into a thoroughly bad mood.

So much so, that he growled as crossed his arms in front of his chest and closed his eyes tight. He didn't know if Snape would have undressed before entering, as before, or if the man was disrobing right in front of him, but he didn't care. He wasn't going to look again, not if he could help it, at that enormous...

Harry cut that thought off, as even remembering was proving too much for him. He felt faint, and thought that opening his eyes would likely steady him and help the feeling dissipate, but he kept them closed regardless. It could wait until Snape was actually in the water with him.

Then the surface of the water sloshed, telling him he was no longer alone beneath the suds.

Not that _that_ was exactly a relief, but at least he could open his eyes now.

_Mistake._

It wasn't often that Harry wished he could be more nearsighted, but this was one of those times. Even without his glasses he could see quite well to the edge of the sunken tub. 

There stood Snape, feet planted on the granite tiles, hands crossed in front of his chest, his expression something severe. Not that Harry spent much time looking at his _face_. Drawn by a pull stronger than his will--morbid curiosity, perhaps--the young man couldn't stop his gaze from falling, and falling, and falling. 

Straight over the lean muscled chest sparsely covered with black, wiry hairs... down to the flat planes of the abdomen, where that hair tapered itself into a dark river guiding his gaze down further...

To a dense thatch of hair below which hung that long, thick cock he remembered... though he'd tried so hard not to. 

Half-hard now, it jutted out from the man's body in graceful arc, but the moment Harry fixed his gaze on it, it reacted, rising a fraction more, and then another. The man was positively _huge_ , like something out of _Playwitch,_ though of course Harry had never bought a magazine like that, or even wanted to. Ron had got one once, though, and they'd poured over it, laughing, asking each other if this body or that was what witches really wanted.

And now, seeing something like that in the flesh, Harry suddenly began to wonder what it would feel like in his hand. Heavy, solid...

But he didn't want to _touch_ it. Not really. He was only thinking that way because it looked so unreal, Harry hurriedly told himself. It wasn't a glamour; he knew that, but some part of his mind must think it was. That's why he was wondering what it would feel like. Glamours usually fooled only one sense, after all. After the way Snape had lied to him, Harry was feeling suspicious, and rightly so.

He didn't _really_ want to weigh that cock in the palm of his hand. 

Snape sat down on the edge of the tub and submerged his feet beneath the mountain of suds, causing a ripple to cross the tub and wash against Harry's chest. Which reminded Harry.

Good thing, too. He needed _something_ to get his mind off Snape's... _endowments_. 

"That was a pretty nasty trick, making me think you'd already gotten in, when all the time you were just standing there waiting for me to see you!"

Sliding all the way into the water then, Snape sat facing Harry and leaned his head back on the tiles as he answered. "If you mean the fact that I spelled some water away a moment ago, I can assure you all I had in mind was that I not overflow the tub."

 _Sure_ , Harry thought. "And what the hell happened to the ferns on that side, anyway?" _He_ always had to climb awkwardly over them to get into the tub, as they lined it on all four sides. They were missing now, though.

"If you hadn't been trying so very hard to avoid looking at me, you'd have seen me banish them." 

"Well I don't have much reason to want to _see_ you, do I! But you made sure I'd have to--"

"Stop this at once," Snape ordered, the water sloshing as he made his way across the tub to sit alongside Harry instead of opposite him. 

"Oh right, just play the _I'm-the-owner-and-you're-the-slave_ card," Harry sniped. "If you don't like the way I talk or act or _feel_ , you can just order me to stop it at once, can't you? Well, I have news for you, Severus. I'm not your slave yet, and even after I am, you can't just--"

Harry stopped only because he couldn't talk with his mouth full. And it was suddenly full of wet, warm, tongue, Snape turning towards Harry and leaning across him so they touched, chest to chest as they kissed.

Long, slow kisses that seemed to last forever, until the heated water surrounding Harry's body seemed to sink through his skin to warm him on the inside, too, until his head swam and he felt once more as though he might pass out. And not because he couldn't breathe... Snape's nose wasn't _that_ big, though it did occasionally press against his as they kissed on and on and on...

"Oh, God," he said when the Potions Master finally pulled back and moved away slightly. 

"You do realise you invoke your deity quite a bit?" 

Snape pushed his own hair off his face, raking through it with his fingers, the strands falling slowly back into place as his hand moved back. Something inside Harry's stomach seemed to plummet just watching that. "Um, maybe the bath's a bad idea tonight. I feel sort of... woozy."

"Three glasses of wine can do that."

"Yeah, but..." Harry drew in a deep breath. "Look, it's probably still the Dragon's Happy messing with my senses. I mean, it only got really bad when you... er, kissed me."

"That's not still in your system." Snape scooped up a handful of bubbles and sniffed them, then frowned. "Ah, I see. You used the elf-shampoo in the water. No wonder you're feeling... _woozy_ , as you put it. You're trying hard to be angry and the magic is doing its best to calm you down. It's generally not a good idea to swim against a magical tide."

"I'm not _trying_ to be angry--"

Snape gave him a dubious look but didn't bother arguing the point. Instead, he surveyed the suds all around. "Just how much of that shampoo did you use?"

"All of it."

The Potions Master gave a dry laugh. " _All_ of it. I see. Would that be Dutch courage, Harry? The same way you would have drunk all the wine had I let you?"

"Well, some of us are a little bit _uncomfortable_ , Severus," retorted Harry. "I don't know about you but I'm not used to sharing a bath, all right?"

"Would that be a rather unsubtle way of inquiring into my usual practices with my lovers?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

For his part, Harry scowled. "No, it would not. Anyway, you told me your previous liaisons were none of my sodding business."

Snape settled back against the edge of the tub and stretched out so his toes momentarily poked their way up through the suds. "Hmm, yes I did. I recall that. I was intent at that time on impressing upon you the unequal nature of the _Podentes_ relationship. However, I myself had overlooked that our becoming lovers would necessarily mute that aspect of the charm."

Harry batted at the water, not trusting what he'd just heard. "Necessarily?"

"Well, I suppose a sadist might exploit the possibilities for dominance," Snape admitted, wrapping one arm around Harry to pull him close against his side. "But we've established that I'm not that. So, yes. This spell was constructed with lovers in mind, remember. And I can assure you, _as_ your lover I have realised that there must be reciprocity on a number of levels, not merely the sexual... though of course some things will by their nature remain unequal."

 _I bet they will,_ Harry thought. 

"So if you would care to inquire about my sexual past--"

"I would not care to inquire," Harry coldly announced, crossing his arms in front of his chest. 

It annoyed him a bit when Snape didn't take that hint, but instead began to toy with the hair at Harry's nape as he remarked, "As my lover I would certainly regard that information as within your purview--"

"Would you stop with this _we-are-lovers_ rubbish?" Harry cried out in desperation. 

"No." 

"Look, I know your views are a little warped; I mean, how could they not be, but I'm not like you and I just don't see things that way--"

Snape shut him up by kissing him again, but this time, he pulled Harry up onto his lap to do it, his fingers now pressing insistently against the back of his neck, his other arm wrapped around Harry's back to hold him steady. Kiss after kiss after kiss, the sensations so familiar now that Harry could almost melt into them. Really, Snape was quite a good kisser and some part of him _did_ wonder how on earth he'd got enough experience to be that way. And anyway, kissing wasn't so awful, was it? Not strange, like other things... kissing was something he could have done with a girl, not that he'd ever get that chance now...

All thoughts of Snape and kisses and girls versus boys were abruptly cut short when he felt something absolutely awful happening down below. Not his own arousal; by now, he was used to the fact that slow, deep kisses would do that to him. No, it was something much worse, something happening to Snape, but Harry could hardly fail to miss it, especially considering he was more or less sitting on top of the man's naked cock.

A cock which was lengthening, hardening, rising up to press insistently against Harry's bare backside.

Harry pulled back from the kiss, unnerved. Really, the impulse to back completely away was there in him, strongly, but he managed to stay on Snape's lap. He had to; it was as simple as that. He had to face this, because his birthday was looming closer all the time, not to mention the invocation, and he _didn't_ want to die, or make a mockery of his mother's sacrifice. 

And anyway, nothing was really _wrong,_ was it? For Snape, that was. Of course for Snape. This was all wrong for him, but he didn't have a choice, so he'd find a way to manage. Somehow. But for Snape, this was all just normal, right? Snape liked men, and here was a naked man sitting on his lap, kissing him--yeah, kissing _him..._ it had been mutual--a man Snape had moreover admitted he found attractive, so really, it was to be expected, wasn't it, that arousal straining upwards against his bum?

Nothing to be alarmed about at all... though his cheeks felt as though they were positively flaming. 

"Um... you're... you know," he finally said, the words sounding weak and sort of stupid even to him.

"So are you," murmured Snape, the hand at his nape dropping down to lay atop Harry's own hardness. He wrapped his fingers around it, and pressed them in, then moved his index finger upward to rub Harry's foreskin lightly back and forth. 

Embarrassed, Harry leaned forward and lay his head on Snape's shoulder. At least there, it was harder for the man to see his face. 

Snape chuckled and pulled Harry closer still, and Harry pretended that it was just a really bumpy chair he was sitting on. Yeah, a seat with just one large cylindrical bump, he told himself. A chair he felt like he might slide off of, water being pretty slippery. To stay in place he tried bracing a hand against the edge of the tub, but the position was awkward. 

Finally, he gave up and looped his arms around Snape's neck and just held on as the man stroked him hard and slow, that sensation a familiar one, too. It was sort of like an embrace, but really, that was all right, wasn't it? Snape thought they were lovers so he was hardly going to object, and Harry was supposed to learn willingness, wasn't he? This was probably good practice.

Long moments passed, Harry's breathing going ragged... Snape's actually not too much different, Harry riding a crest of pleasure that seemed to stretch out without end. At one point he thought he would come, and he gripped Snape a bit more tightly, his fingernails digging into the man's back, but then he lost the sensation somehow, his arousal receding like a tide that had to build back up before it could come roaring back against the shore. 

Snape continued on, his fingertips alternately teasing and tormenting as his hand demanded satisfaction.

And all the while, Harry was sitting on a cock that stayed rock hard, twitching a bit at times... Well, twitching whenever Harry moaned, actually. That was sort of interesting even if it did make him shiver. 

He thought once of what Snape had said about _reciprocity_ and wondered if he should reach down... but no, he didn't want to touch it. No, certainly not. It was just that he was a man too, so he knew how uncomfortable a thing like that could be if it was allowed to just persist.... but he certainly didn't want Snape to come in his hand, no, so reciprocity was definitely out.

Though Snape could easily demand some, couldn't he? Harry wouldn't say _no._ Couldn't, given that they were practicing for the invocation when he'd have to be so _willing..._

"Kiss me," he heard Snape say, the sound of it husky. 

Harry didn't want to, but he wasn't supposed to refuse, so that was that. And anyway, Snape had been touching him for quite a while--longer than usual--and Harry hadn't come. Maybe kissing would help him get his mind off what he was sitting on, and then he'd be able to. That sounded good, especially as he had the idea that Snape was going to just go on and on until Harry _did_ come. Best do what he could to help, yeah.

He raised his head off Snape's shoulder and raised his lips to the taller man's, and felt his mouth taken in such a storm of passion that it made his head swim. The warm water lapping at his back echoed the demands of the tongue mating with his, and Harry felt his heartbeat race, his muscles going weak and useless, his closed eyes feeling like they were rolling back in his head. 

The pleasure spread through him as though through his blood, filling him to the tips of his fingers, _definitely_ filling his cock, which now started to positively burn with frustrated need. Burn, and something more, the sensations growing stronger and stronger until they were actually hard to bear. He hung on tighter to Severus, because he knew the feelings down there couldn't last... he was going to come, of course he was going to come...

But he didn't.

Harry yanked his mouth away from the kiss to cry out, desperate noises...

And then those noises changed to pain, because all at once his cock grew excruciatingly sensitive, the slightest touch on it like a brand of fire...

"Ow! Stop! _Stop!_ " he exclaimed.

And Snape did, at once, his large hand moving to rest on Harry's thigh even as his other arm relaxed to let him scoot farther away. 

"Sore?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Not sure why--"

"I've been stroking you for quite some time; that's no doubt why."

"I meant I'm not sure why it's taking me so long," muttered Harry. "I mean, it's usually quicker." 

"Three glasses of wine might have something to do with it. But no, the elf-shampoo should have countered that, especially considering the quantity you employed." Snape frowned. "However, you seem... distracted. Is something on your mind?"

"Yeah, you might say that." Harry moved off Snape's lap then, relieved when the man made no move to stop him, and retreated to the far end of the small pool. Really _tub_ hardly did it justice at all.

Snape waited a moment before saying mildly, "Planning to enlighten me?"

"It's your..." Harry cleared his throat. "Look, you had me sitting right on top of you. And you know I didn't much like finding out earlier that you were... uh, getting a hard-on just looking at me, so how do you expect me to feel sitting right on top of your...."

"Ah." Snape pushed his hair out of his face again; Harry realised he was staring and looked resolutely away. "You were upset before by my deceit. Are you now suggesting I perpetuate it by positioning you so you do not feel just how arousing I find you?"

Harry didn't know what to say when it was put like that. "Well, okay, maybe the feel wasn't the issue. It's just knowing you've been... for _me._ I'd rather you weren't, you know."

"Yes, I know," Snape said rather dryly as he shifted across the tub towards Harry. "This has been a rather poor practise session for the ritual bath, I fear. The idea is for you to come to completion, as I'm sure you recall."

Snape had a gleam in his eye that Harry didn't like. "What... what are you going to do?"

But instead of doing something alarming, the man merely sighed. "Go back to something less... daunting for you, I suppose. We'll try the bath another night."

Harry closed his eyes as Snape moved up the steps and out of the water; he heard an impatient noise at that, but ignored it. Despite his words about going back to something less daunting, Snape was still there when Harry looked, though at least he was decently covered by a towelling robe. But he just stood there, dark eyes intent, waiting, until Harry understood and climbed out as well, naked and dripping.

But Snape hadn't been waiting there so he could leer, as it turned out. He picked up his wand from the bench where he'd set it earlier, and expression solemn, cast a quick healing charm over Harry's cock and balls. All at once the lingering ache in his skin eased.

As Harry sighed, Snape handed him a second robe. 

A shorter one... one sized for him.

Unexpectedly, Harry's knees very nearly buckled. He told himself it was the long, stressful day... or the additional stress of knowing that he'd failed to get through this preparation for the ritual bath. Deep down though, he knew it was something else. Snape had transfigured that glass for him, of course, but that was because Harry had complained he was thirsty. And he'd bought him clothes--though Harry still really did wonder where on earth any of them _were_ ; he never saw them unless Snape laid them out--but this was different. The glass he'd practically asked for; the spell sort of made the clothes a requirement. Dumbledore and Arthur Weasley weren't about to put up with Harry ending up bare-arsed naked at the invocation--well, not at the witnessed portion of it, anyway. And the healing charm... well, Snape wanted him in good shape; that only made sense.

But the robe... it was something that wasn't required at all. Something just for Harry.

And he hadn't expected that from Snape, though maybe he should have.

"Thanks," he said, surprised at how rough his voice came out. 

The other man gave him a bit of an odd look but merely said, "I'll see you in the bedroom. We'll take a short break and then try again."

Harry nodded, sinking down onto the bench as Snape left the room.


	30. Chapter 30

 

 

** Saturday, June 6, 1998 ---- 10:18 p.m. **

Severus paced his bedroom, his lips twisted at the length of time it was taking for Harry to emerge. He'd given the young man some time in which to compose himself, but there was a limit to his patience, after all. And really, he'd been more than patient already. Why should it upset Harry so very much that Severus found him attractive? The lying... when he thought on that, he could see why Harry had objected. But now it seemed that the mere _fact_ of his desire disturbed Harry, and not merely because the young man felt, in his innocence, that size was going to be an impediment.

 _Innocence,_ that was it. 

Harry had never had a proper relationship, Severus hastily reminded himself. Well, not a romantic relationship, at any rate. He did have those friends of his, whom Severus grudgingly acknowledged seemed loyal enough, but in the realm of the most intimate kinds of relationships, Harry had no experience whatsoever. 

And it wasn't just sexually that Harry was inexperienced either, was it? His own family had treated him like some sort of pariah; that had to have taken a toll. 

Severus' thoughts were cut short by the noise--finally--of Harry emerging from the bathroom. 

Fully dressed.

Repressing a strong urge to say something scathing, Severus waited for Harry to speak. 

"Uh, it's after curfew so I thought I'd better--"

"Do you really believe you're going to be expelled five days before the end of your seventh year? You, of all people?" Hmm, that had been a little bit scathing after all. Severus resolved to try harder.

"No, but it's getting hard to explain why I'm gone so much."

Severus' nostrils flared as he huffed. "I presume you are telling your friends some _lie?_ " When Harry glared, Severus resolved to try _much_ harder. He breathed in, deeply, and tried again. "Regardless, you need to remain until we complete our own objectives."

Harry sat down on the bed, his lips turning down. "Why can't it just wait until Monday?"

"Because the incident will prey on your mind," Severus said, taking a seat beside him. 

Harry made a scoffing noise. "Oh, like I care that much if--"

"If the invocation fails on the seventeenth? I think you do."

"Yeah, all right." His cheeks reddening, Harry shrugged. "So, um, strip off again?"

"We'll wait a while," Severus conceding, sensing Harry needed it. " _Accio_ hairbrush." Once it came flying into his hand, he passed it to Harry and quietly said, "Would you?"

Harry's fingers, he noticed, tightened on the brush handle in the instant he understood. "Uh..."

To say that his tone was reluctant would be quite the understatement, Severus thought. 

"I'm not supposed to refuse an order, though," Harry went on, just as though he felt a need to justify his compliance. 

That irked Severus, who heard himself explaining, "I don't believe I gave you any order."

"Yeah, well I'm supposed to know what you want and anticipate it," Harry immediately countered that.

Severus remembered saying that, of course, but now he saw Harry's submission in a vastly different light than before. What they were undertaking was, he supposed, almost akin to a marriage. An arranged marriage. The fact that one partner held legal and magical authority over the other one didn't change the underlying constraints of marriage itself. At least, not the constraints of a healthy marriage, which they undoubtedly must develop in order to cross powers. 

Of course, Severus was hardly in a position to know what a healthy marriage needed in order to thrive. 

But he sensed most clearly that one partner feeling utterly subjugated to the other--no matter that _Podentes_ had seemed to structure things that way at first--was hardly going to spur things along. 

"I want you to feel comfortable," Severus finally said to Harry, who was still holding the hairbrush in almost a death-grip. "Touching me might help you. You rarely _have_ touched me except upon command," he went on, his voice lowering. "You might more readily think of us as lovers if you became accustomed."

Harry turned his head to the side and nodded very sharply as he gestured toward a straight-backed wooden chair against the wall. "Well then, you'd better sit up straight so I can reach you better."

Severus went to the middle of the room and summoned the chair sat down and waited. Standing behind him, Harry seemed to hesitate, but then Severus felt the length of his hair being tugged up and back as Harry draped it over the back of the chair. Was it Severus' imagination, or did Harry's hands seem to linger, ever so slightly, caressing his hair as it fell? If he did, it lasted only an instant. 

Drawing in a heavy breath, Harry began to pull the brush through the Severus' hair. Severus could feel the tension in the strands tugging at his scalp, could sense the strokes Harry was using as long and slow and thorough. Severus shuddered slightly, his cock reacting quite predictably to the analogy.

"Didn't snag anything, did I?" asked Harry, his voice a bit thicker than usual. Or so it seemed to Severus, who might have mistaken it as the room was growing uncomfortably warm. He shook his head in answer.

Harry started humming something softly as he worked, pulling the brush through from scalp to tip now. Methodical, those strokes. Regular as a heartbeat, scalp to tip, the brush scratching lightly at his skin at the beginning of each new stroke. The pull on his scalp now was exquisite, like pleasure was oozing out his follicles to coat each strand of hair, and still Harry kept on, though now it seemed to Severus that he was smoothing portions of hair with his hand after each stroke.

He shivered, the sensation of that simply delicious.

Harry laughed then, low in his throat, the noise really no more than a chuckle. "You know it's strange to see you with hair like this. I've just spent too long thinking of it as..."

His voice trailed off, but Severus wasn't so far gone as to mistake the comment. He dearly wished he hadn't had to persuade Harry to touch him. Of course that subtle impression he'd had of hands lingering was very encouraging, but it was still quite the disappointment that Harry would touch him only when Severus brought the subject up. They'd spent weeks in each other's company; did Harry still find him so very repugnant? 

"Oily? That wasn't me, it was a protective coating I use on my hair and exposed skin. I spell it off each night now, before you come to me--"

"I know, Severus. You told me."

Had he? Severus was finding it hard to remember, what with the tingle in his scalp and the pleasant pressure of Harry's hand now resting on his shoulder as the young man braced himself so he could pull the brush through with those steady, perfect strokes. Even through the towelling robe Severus was wearing, Harry's touch was quite invigorating. "Well, I wouldn't want you to think I went about being called the _greasy git_ because I liked it," he heard himself babbling, only unlike Harry, he didn't have any Dragon's Happy to blame it on. Only the wonderful feel of Harry working his way through one lock of hair after another... and the awful knowledge that the young man wouldn't touch him like this unless he was prompted. "I quite assure you, the coating is necessary in my line of work--"

"I _know_ , Severus," Harry repeated, before giving a long sigh. It held the sound of someone coming to a decision. Someone reluctantly choosing to act. Or in this case, speak, for Harry followed it by saying, his voice sounding almost strangled, "Look, I wasn't trying to insult your hair, all right? It's actually.... uh, really nice." Harry carded a bit of it through his fingers as he spoke. "It's so straight. Not like mine... I like it."

It was a good thing Severus was sitting down, because otherwise he thought he might have fallen over from shock. Of course heknew that Harry found his hair something of an aphrodisiac, and he rather thought Harry had got at least an inkling of that fact earlier, but he'd not expected to hear Harry admit out loud that he liked Severus' hair.

Ever...

"I like yours as well," he casually returned, resisting the strong urge to turn around so he could see if Harry was blushing. But that might discomfit the young man so.... yes, far better to sit here and let that brush continue its slow stroking.

"Ha," Harry only said. Probably he was thinking of how unruly his own hair tended to be. Severus could have told him how arousing that actually was... how Harry's hair often looked as though he'd just tumbled out of bed after a night of satisfying sex... but he thought better than to mention that, considering the young man's reaction earlier. He hadn't wanted to hear Severus praise his eye colour, had he....

Fingers were running through his hair now, Harry combing through the strands, but then it all abruptly stopped, just as if Harry had realised quite what he was doing. Severus almost sighed. If Harry was willing, he could have sat all night and had his hair brushed and fondled. But, just as well, considering. They did have more important matters to attend to.

"Thank you," he said, standing and stretching a bit, the towelling robe falling slightly off one shoulder until he adjusted it and tightened the belt about his waist. 

Harry, he noticed, was staring resolutely at his face, probably doing his best not to flick his gaze down to see if Severus was aroused. Which he was, of course. The robe wouldn't do much to hide it... but in any case, he was through hiding. It had been a bad mistake ever to have started that. Ironic, though, that Harry was so reluctant to look at what he had rebuked Severus for concealing in the first place.

"Since when do you say thank you?" Harry demanded, suddenly turning his back. "To anyone?"

"Ah. Well, to begin with you aren't _anyone_. We'll be living together soon. I think the basic forms and conventions of civility are called for, in this case."

"Didn't know you knew anything about civility," retorted Harry, his back stiff and straight. 

A flame roared up inside Severus, then. One he'd felt before when Harry had insulted him. Then, he'd shoved the young man back against a wall and ravaged his tender mouth, taking what he wouldn't give. The impulse to do the same thing again was filling him up from inside, only this time, he'd take more than a mouth. Passion, that was what he wanted, and he _knew_ Harry had it in him to give, though so far the young man had been denying that he wanted Severus, denying his own attraction which was plain as day considering what had happened with the Dragon's Happy...

He could shove him down on the bed and stretch his arms out hard, to either side, and lay atop him and grind their hips together until they both came... he could have his satisfaction _with_ Harry for once instead of alone in the furtive dark... he could rip his clothes off and flip him onto his stomach and slide himself between those delectable arse cheeks and fill him so full that he'd beg and beg and _beg_ to come--

Oh yes, he could do all that and more. And Harry, he thought, wouldn't even resist, not any of it, just as he hadn't resisted in the bath. He'd leaned his head on Severus' shoulder and wrapped his arms around him in that sweet embrace and let Severus do whatever he pleased, let him rub and stroke and fondle him, for just as long as Severus liked...

For so long, in fact, that he'd ended up needing a healing charm...

Severus frowned, trying to think his way through that. Harry had been in serious pain there, at the end. That sort of thing didn't happen between one stroke and the next; it built its way up slowly through discomfort, to soreness, to finally the kind of pain that would cause your reflexes to protect you from any more of it. Harry had jerked away from him, so his wasn't any idle complaint... and the skin on his cock had been chafed and _raw_ when he'd climbed out of the tub...

 _Harry couldn't possibly have wanted that,_ Severus realised, his chest feeling tight. _So why was he sitting quietly on my lap, making no protest whatsoever... why did he just keep kissing_ _me, his arms wrapped around me as though what I was doing was perfectly fine with him? Why did he let himself be used like that?_

The word reverberated inside him. _Used..._ Harry's word; Severus hated it. But that was how Harry would have seen matters, he felt sure. But _why_ did Harry have to see all their lovemaking in that light? _Why?_

When the answer came, Severus almost thought his heart would stop beating. _Because I told_ _him things would be that way,_ he realised in despair. _Ink on parchment, the words written so harshly they might as well have been carved into stone. You will be bound to me sexually, for my sexual use..._

It was like a cauldron of icy water had been dumped straight over Severus' head. That was how Harry saw it, how he saw everything they'd done from the very start. He saw himself as a slave, not a lover. He saw himself as a _thing_ Severus planned to use... and what had Severus done but reinforce that, night after night after night, deciding what they would do and how they would do it, shoving Harry closer to intimacy all the time with never a thought for what the young man might be feeling...

And the damned précis... Severus wished he'd never written the thing. Or at least, that he'd given more thought to what _lovers_ really implied. But how could he have, considering his past, his history? He'd had experience aplenty, but never a lover... at least, not in the way Harry was going to be.

"Well?" Harry pressed, turning back to face him, to follow up on his earlier insult. "What, nothing to say? That's not like you either, is it now?"

The heat in his cock was gone by then. Gone completely. Just as well... Severus thought he needed to focus on something other than pleasure for once. Studying Harry's expression carefully, he saw something unexpected behind the hostility in his eyes. Vulnerability, perhaps. Defensiveness. 

Something clicked in Severus' mind. Harry was goading him on, insulting him deliberately... perhaps hoping for the very reaction Severus had been tempted to give. Because then, when they made love he would have someone to blame, someone to hate. 

He'd have a reason to continue in his wilful insistence that they weren't ever going to be lovers.

Coming to a decision, Severus walked across the room and straight past Harry, who flinched a bit as though expecting something violent from him. That stung, though Severus knew he probably deserved it. What he did wasn't violent, of course. He merely lay down atop his bed and arranged the pillows so he could lean comfortably up against the headboard. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" Harry demanded.

"That I wish to recline?" asked Severus in his mildest voice. 

Harry's fists clenched. "No, what does it mean for me? You said I'm supposed to _take my cue_ from you, didn't you, that I should figure out what you want and do it, without ever being told--"

"I think we'll be far better off if you forget I ever said anything as daft as that," Severus smoothly interrupted. "You're no mind reader."

"But you _are_ ," Harry yelled, face contorting too, now. "Yeah, _Legilimens,_ and you didn't hesitate to use it, did you--"

The calmer Severus was, the angrier Harry became, a reaction which served to bolster Severus' earlier conclusion. "Why are you trying so hard to fight with me, Harry? I can't think that's really what we need between us, can you?"

"Oh and what you think we need is all that matters, I suppose!"

"Listen to yourself. You're twisting every last thing I say."

" _You're_ the one who's twisted--" Harry abruptly stopped talking, his breathing harsh as he stood there silently. And then, more calmly, "You didn't tell me what you wanted me to do, you know."

 _And if I do,_ Severus thought, _you'll cling to that as one more way to see yourself as a victim instead of a participant in this with me._

Sometimes, of course, commanding Harry would be unavoidable. At the invocation, for instance. And afterwards, for certain very serious matters pertaining to the demands of the spell itself. And all that was Severus' responsibility; it was up to him as the dominant--not to mention more magically experienced--partner to see to it that Harry didn't trample the requirements of the contract. He would suffer if he did... most likely, suffer horribly, and it was up to Severus to ensure that such a thing never came to pass.

He didn't like to think of Harry suffering, he realised. A strange thought indeed. How many times had he revelled in the petty manual labour he could set him to during detentions? Or enjoyed the look in Harry's eyes when Severus took points? 

But no... things had changed between them, and now, the thought of Harry enduring the vengeance of a broken contract filled him with dread.

Dread, and a determination to keep such a thing from ever happening.

But as for _this_ , for casual everyday commands, for abusing his authority as no true _lover_ would...

"I think perhaps I've had enough of telling you what to do," he answered Harry. 

"You mean I _am_ supposed to read your mind?"

Severus repressed an urge to say something scathing about Harry's listening comprehension. Because of course the young man had listened to him, all along. Too well, as it turned out. 

"No. Up until now, Harry, I've been dragging you along as we've broached one barrier after another. I thought I had to, to make the invocation succeed. But now, I think it won't unless you're more at ease. Unless you trust me to care for you as a lover would. A lover, not a master. The one has to come before the other. So, why don't you do what you wish to do?"

"What I wish to do," repeated Harry. "Uh, what if I want to go back up to my dormitory then, right now?"

Severus hoped he wouldn't really do that, but decided it would be unwise to say as much. He could not resist, however, pointing out the salient facts. "You may do as you wish, but I would think that after your difficulty climaxing in the bath, it would be imprudent to leave here so precipitously."

Harry was staring at him suspiciously. "That's your way of saying I have to stay even though you won't say so?"

"No. Leave if you wish, by all means." Severus waved a hand toward the door. 

His heart skipped a beat when Harry took a few steps in that direction. It was on the tip of his tongue to call him back, to command him after all, no matter how counterproductive it proved to be. Because they _did_ need to practise for the invocation... 

But the invocation required trust, and ordering Harry about wasn't the way to achieve any.

Severus wanted to groan out loud. Giving _up_ control... it was a good deal harder than he had expected. But that was what he'd demanded Harry do for all these weeks, wasn't it? 

His respect for the young man rose a notch.

And then it rose several more, for Harry had actually stopped walking towards the door. His green eyes rueful as he looked back, he admitted, "I want to go but... uh, yeah, I guess I'd better not. I mean, not quite yet. I mean, I do know the invocation's really more important." 

Severus held his breath, unwilling to add to that lest his words be interpreted as a command. He was rewarded for his patience when Harry sat down on the side of the bed and toed off his shoes. "Um, so what do you have in mind, then?"

"What do _you_ have in mind?" 

Harry frowned. "That's kind of mean, you know, making me say. I... I think I'd rather you tell me what we're going to do. I mean, you know more about this than I do."

 _More about sex and physical pleasure, yes,_ Severus thought. _Not more about this. _Because this wasn't just about sex any longer; he'd been a fool to ever think it had been. It was about building a relationship now. About trusting one another, about getting along, about being the kind of person Harry could come to for care and protection.

And Severus knew precious little about any of that. He'd lived alone too long, alone with nothing but books and indulgences to keep him company. And in the past few years, since he'd ostensibly returned to the Dark Lord's service, he'd done without the best of those indulgences. It simply wasn't safe.

He'd never thought he'd have anyone of his own. In a way, Harry was like a gift. A precious gift. He was just sorry it had taken him so long to see things in that light. 

"I think you know enough to determine how we proceed this evening."

"To _determine..._ " Harry moved a little bit more fully onto the bed, bending one knee as he sat there. "You want me to... uh, lead?"

"Yes. Verbally, if you're not comfortable doing so physically."

At that, Harry gaped. "Huh? You want me to tell you what to do? And you'll do it?"

Severus nodded.

"This is weird," Harry breathed, shaking his head. "I... uh, I can't. I mean, I'm not supposed to, right? I'm going to be your slave, not the other way around. If we're practising, then... that's bad practise."

"No," Severus replied. "We're supposed to be lovers first, Harry. And the other... it's like an overlay, drawing power from the strength of the underlying relationship, making _Podentes_ possible at all."

"Your précis didn't really cover any of this," said Harry, his voice shaking. 

"It has only recently become clear to me." Severus made an attempt to smile; judging from Harry's expression, he didn't succeed. "Perhaps if I had realised from the start that things should be more reciprocal, you would be more at ease by now."

Surprisingly, that got Harry talking. Even more surprising was what he said. "If you'd told me at the start to do what I liked, Severus, we'd have never got anywhere. I mean..."

"That would have been asking a great deal at the outset, yes." Well, at least Harry didn't sound terribly resentful of the way Severus had dealt with him up to that point. "And now?"

Harry flushed and looked away. "Um, well I guess it's not a great idea for me to leave now after what happened in there." He gestured vaguely toward the bathroom door. "You know, they say if you fall off a broom you're supposed to get right back on or you'll never have the nerve... again."

Severus' thoughts exactly. He kept his voice carefully casual though, as he prompted, "And so?"

"Um, I guess I should undress then?" 

Severus didn't dare reply, though it was quite difficult to hold back his instinct to wholeheartedly agree.

After a moment, Harry moved his fingers to start to disrobe, his colour flaring worse than usual. No wonder. Always before, he'd undressed on Severus' command, but now he was doing it of his own volition, albeit reluctantly. Before he'd even doffed a single garment, however, Harry seemed to realise that Severus really _was_ going to let him do as he wished.

And what he wished, clearly, was not to be on display. 

Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and spelled the lights completely off. 

Severus had never much cared for making love in the dark. He liked to see his partner gasping with pleasure, but he gave no hint of criticism as he listened to the little noises Harry's clothes made as they came undone. That was rather exciting too, in a way, imagining what the pop of a button and the rasp of a zip might mean.

Then Harry's soft footfall crossed the room again, and slight noises announced he'd laid his wand and glasses near at hand on the night table. But he made no move to get onto the bed, saying instead, "Uh, maybe you could get... er, under the covers?"

Severus complied without a word, pulling the blankets atop him invitingly back, not that Harry could see. But he could feel, as indeed he was. One of his hands was patting his side of the bed as though in exploration; when his hand momentarily connected with Severus', Harry instinctively jerked back. In the next moment, though, he was recovering and sliding into bed next to Severus.

For quite some time after that, they just lay there, side by side. It was all Severus could do not to pull Harry close and begin to kiss his neck, or rub his back, or _something_. Desire was clawing at him again, his libido recovering from the unwelcome realisation that everything _he'd_ thought was making love, Harry had thought of in far more unattractive terms. That was what kept his hands to himself and his words deep inside, though. He wasn't going to compel Harry, not tonight, not by any means. 

Not even if it killed him.

Which it might.

"You'll really do what I say?" Harry finally asked. "And you're sure we won't be, er... jinxing _Podentes?_ "

"I will really do as you say," Severus softly assured him. "And if anything, making you feel so much a slave might have ended up jinxing _Podentes_."

"But I have to feel like I'm your slave at the invocation--"

"No, you have to give yourself willingly into my care, which is quite a different thing."

He could hear Harry swallowing in the dark, and wondered if the young man was going to come out with something else insulting. But all he said was, "The précis..."

Severus sighed deeply, wishing quite ardently for a time-turner by then. "Harry, some things I wrote in the précis are undoubtedly accurate. The history, for example. What was the last known attempted use of the _Podentes_ spell?"

"Caligula."

"Who was?"

"A Roman emperor! What does that matter?"

"It might actually matter quite a bit. The last people to write about the spell were Roman wizards, influenced no doubt by their own time in history, which included quite harsh forms of slavery. Think of the gladiatorial contests, for example. Are you familiar with--"

"Yeah. I might have scored a Dreadful in History of Magic but I do know some things about history in general, you know."

"Of course," Severus murmured, though in fact he was surprised. The average wizard knew very little Muggle history. But of course Harry had gone to Muggle schools for years when he was young. "So, the last wizards to record anything of note saw slavery, perhaps, in a very harsh light. Moreover, they were labouring under the extreme disadvantage of never having seen _Podentes_ successfully invoked. It was as mythical to them as it is to us, actually. They did know from their own sources that the spell was designed for lovers, but I think they stressed that aspect much less than they should have in their tales. And the older sources, the ones from wizards who _had_ invoked this or seen it done... those are much more fragmentary and incomplete. The précis is undoubtedly flawed, as was my original understanding of the spell. It's not as much about enslavement, I think, as it is about care and protection."

"But even Binns said it was an enslavement charm!"

"His understanding is no doubt flawed as well. Harry, _no one_ fully comprehends _Podentes_. We will have to learn about it as we go. Now, do not mistake my meaning. It is undeniably an enslavement charm. Irrevocable, and all the rest. There's no changing that. But the enslavement comes about because of the ebb and flow of how magic, at its very heart, works. You cannot create power from nothing. Great power demands great sacrifice. Twice-filled powers, even more. I think the original spell casters developed _Podentes_ only because they _were_ so much in love that the enslavement, though true, posed no real threat to their relationship. Do you begin to see what I mean?"

Again, that swallowing noise. Or gulping, perhaps. "Yeah, but... uh, we're not in love, and not going to be."

"No, but we are lovers. If you can trust me to care for you _as_ my lover even within the context of _Podentes_ , I think your sacrifice of yourself will be enough to invoke. And part of that trust must be that you feel at ease with me, you understand? Sexually. Which I think will not come about unless you feel we are a bit more... equal, here in bed."

"I'm your lover so I'm your equal and this will help me become your slave so I'm not, except I still am, except I'm not?"

Severus smiled in relief. "Exactly."

"But that doesn't make any sense!"

"Paradox doesn't, no."

The mattress underneath him shifted as Harry rolled on his side and propped his head up on one hand. "It doesn't feel right telling you to do things to me. It's easier just... submitting."

_Yes, so you can pretend you don't really want to be kissed or caressed or fondled..._

Severus said nothing.

"Oh, fine," Harry finally groused. "I guess I have to. So, uh... kiss my fingers, why don't you?"

Severus had a feeling Harry was expecting him to balk, but he was perfectly content to let the young man lead. Difficult as it was to give up control, he did want to see where Harry would take them.

Reaching over slowly, he lifted Harry's nearer wrist and brought it towards his lips, where he kissed each fingertip very softly before sucking the index finger into the warm cavern of his mouth so he could lave it. His tongue teased the underside as he lightly suckled, just the way he would if he were to taste Harry's beautiful cock. 

Harry's voice was decidedly less antagonistic as he gasped, "Oh! Um, all right... that's enough..."

Severus opened his mouth and let Harry pull his finger free. 

"You don't do things by half measures, do you?" asked Harry, his voice still shaking. Severus could tell he was aroused. Wonderful, _wonderful_... he badly wanted to reach a hand down and ascertain just how aroused, but managed to desist. Far better to let Harry keep leading, to let him see that there was a rich depth of possibility between them, that Severus would not _,_ as Harry had expected, be taking him to bed just to _use_ him. 

Harry rolled on his side then, facing away, which Severus thought quite a disheartening development until he heard the young man speak again. So quietly he very nearly missed it, Harry whispered, "Well... um, kiss my neck a bit, then."

Severus moved closer, rolling onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow, careful not to press his lower body against Harry -- because Harry hadn't asked for that, had he? And for now at least, Harry was in charge. 

As he dipped his head toward the juncture of Harry's neck and shoulder, he sensed the young man arching for him, stretching out to allow him access. _Participating._ Ah, now that was nice. 

A light kiss at first, just a peck really, at the place right behind the ear. Then another at his shoulder, then a light, teasing lick along the taut tendon connecting the two. But then, as Severus' passion flared, he could hold back no longer. Opening his mouth wide on the strong, tanned column that was Harry's neck, he tried to show him the depth of possibility that existed between them. There in the dark, he tried to prove that their life ahead could be rich and full and _nuanced,_ not the flat dead hopelessness Harry seemed to see, that the pleasure between them would indeed not end at the invocation, that they were lovers indeed. 

And that what Severus loved best was pleasing Harry... 

A moan broke over the young man's teeth, and Severus had to clench his hand in the blankets atop him lest it wander down to stroke and fondle the hardness that he knew would greet him.

"A bit, I said," Harry rushed out breathlessly. "Oh, God. That was... um..."

"Yes?"

"Um... better than I remembered, I guess."

Severus waited a moment, but when Harry said nothing else, he couldn't resist suggesting, "Again?"

"No." Harry sucked in a harsh breath. "Am I allowed to say that to you?"

Severus smiled in the dark. "Of course."

"And if I say _stop,_ you will?"

"I did already, if you recall. In the bath?"

"Oh, yeah, right." Harry shifted restlessly and ended up on his back, Severus still propped up on an elbow beside him. "Maybe just... er, regular kissing then."

Severus needed no more invitation than that to dip his head toward Harry's lips. 

_Mmm,_ lovely. He had more than once thought how he'd like to kiss Harry all night, but he'd always been so focussed on an objective--breaking past this barrier or that one--that he'd always had part of his mind on strategy. Not so now. This was Harry's night, and Harry did like being kissed, he knew, so Severus was able to devote his whole body and mind to kissing alone, just as he'd done with Harry's neck.

His position was awkward to sustain for long, though, so Severus slid his upper body atop Harry's. He hadn't been told to, but they'd covered that, hadn't they? Harry could say _no_ ; Harry could say _stop_. And Severus would. 

The young man didn't say _no_ , though. In fact, he moaned low in his throat, the noise of it thrumming into Severus' mouth, and moved his hands to rest atop the other man's back. Taking that as tacit permission to do more touching, Severus uncurled his fingers from where they'd tangled in the sheets, and thrust them into Harry's hair at the nape, where he caressed _just_ those spots Harry did so love to have him massage.

And on and on they kissed, Severus coming up for air now and then, giving him every chance to say that they should stop.

Harry just stared up at him with wide, dazed eyes. Drunk, on pleasure and sensation. Severus' vision had adjusted by then. It wasn't pitch black after all; there was a crack of light seeping out from beneath the bathroom door. Not much, but enough so that he could take in small details like the way Harry licked his lips whenever Severus stopped kissing them. 

Harry wanted more, clearly, and even managed to say so once or twice, though not in words. The young man was too far gone to speak; in silent demand he moved his hands up, though, to the back of Severus' neck, and pulled the other man's head back down.

Physical leading, instead of verbal. And that was all right too. Or rather, better.

Quite when or how the kiss became something else entirely, Severus wasn't sure. His body craved contact with Harry's lean physique, there was no doubt of that, so perhaps he shouldn't have been surprised that inch by inch as they had kissed, he'd gradually come to be on top of Harry. Harry hadn't asked for that, but neither had he complained, so Severus thought it was within the spirit of the night. He kept kissing him as he shifted slightly to get a better position.

Cock to cock, yes, now that was better, both their bodies slick with sweat by then, and moving languidly against one another. The rough feel of Harry's thatch of wiry hair contrasted deliciously with the firm muscled smoothness of his abdomen as Severus slowly thrust, kissing now in tempo to the motion of his hips.

And Harry was matching him, kiss for kiss, thrust for thrust, his eyes tightly clenching as his arousal passed the point of no return. Gasping, his fingers curling into claws to get a better grip on Severus, he threw back his head wildly, his neck stretched out in a long line, his hips jutting upward with sharp, fierce thrusts now, the exclamations breaking across his teeth incoherent ones that somehow still communicated need, and desire, and a raw passion that made Severus' own heart beat faster still. 

Then Harry cried out, the noise more high-pitched than before, and ached his back as he began to come.

The sight was too much for Severus to withstand, and he felt his own cock hardening that extra bit that signalled the onset of orgasm. Felt Harry's own thrusting slow, the young man going boneless and limp beneath him, his climax waning just as Severus' truly took off. 

Growling with need, Severus wrapped a hand around the back of Harry's neck and drew him upwards slightly for one last, long kiss, as he tried to show Harry, even through a climax that left him shaking in reaction, that there was pleasure in _this,_ even, pleasure for both of them.

And then it was over, and the two of them were lying together in a mass of tangled limbs, the sweet pungent smell of sex rising up all around them. Severus breathed it in, his eyes closed, his whole body relaxing. He wanted to say something, but didn't know what. _That went rather better than I had expected_ was the truth, but the words would just send Harry spinning back in time to when Severus had, indeed, been treating him more as a slave than a lover.

It was Harry who broke the silence at last, though what he said was far from profound. "Um. Could you... you know, get off me? You're kind of heavy."

Not the most sensual thing he'd ever heard, to be sure, but he thought it was very, very Harry. And so that was all right. 

Severus rolled off without a word though he took up a position where he could watch the expressions flitting across Harry's face. Pity the light wasn't a bit brighter...

"So, um, what do we do now?" asked Harry, looking away.

"Hmm, what would you most like?" purred Severus. The blankets were tangled at their feet by then, and he expected Harry any moment to be snatching them up, but so far the young man seemed to be beyond noticing how very naked the two of them were.

"Oh you mean we're still doing that.... uh, Harry gets a say thing?"

Severus leaned over and kissed him again, at least he did until Harry pushed him off. "Yes," he answered in solemn tones. "Harry gets more than a _say_ , in case you hadn't noticed. We'll do in bed what you want, _only_ what you want, until the invocation. Perhaps by then you'll believe that mutual pleasure is what awaits us on the other side."

"Well, I've never been in this position before," Harry retorted, his voice pitched a little bit higher than usual. Panic, Severus sensed. "So I don't know what men _do..._ you know, afterwards."

Severus spelled the lights a little bit brighter. "All right?" And when Harry nodded, he went on, "The truth is that it doesn't matter what other men do, Harry. _We_ can proceed in any manner we like. Or rather, you can decide what _you_ would like. However, if you would like to know what is quite common..." Severus glanced down briefly at the creamy splotches on Harry's abdomen. "I can tell you that at this point, cleaning spells might be called for."

Harry pushed up on his elbows and shimmied up the bed to lean against the headboard, a manoeuvre which put his stomach quite close to Severus' head. Severus, however, doubted he realised quite how the movement could be interpreted. He certainly wasn't going to ruin all the good progress they'd made by dipping his head for a taste of their mingled seed. 

"Would you cast it?" Harry asked, his voice still off-key. "I feel a little bit... out of control."

"Certainly." Severus cleaned them both up and pulled the blankets up for good measure. Anything to make Harry feel more at ease... besides, his pulse was slowing... enough for him to realise that it was getting a bit nippy. "And so?"

Harry laughed, one hand over his eyes as though he were in bright sunlight. "This is too bizarre for words. I... I don't have any idea what people even _say_ at a time like this."

Severus lifted Harry's hand and kissed each fingertip again, though this time he went no further. "I don't really know what people say either, Harry. I am very, very experienced... but not, perhaps, in the way you might think."

As openings went, his could hardly be clearer, but Harry didn't ask him anything, so Severus merely went on, "You are welcome to stay and talk a while--"

"No, it's really late. I'd better shower and get going--"

"Do you want to shower?" asked Severus, wondering if Harry wanted to wash the feel of him off, now that he was returning to his other life, or rather, what little remained of it.

"No, I've had two baths already today but I feel all sticky. Well, all of me except _that_ part."

"Ah. A refreshing charm then, perhaps?"

Harry stared at him like he'd grown another head. Perhaps he hadn't expected any consideration whatsoever, sexual or otherwise? "Sure."

Severus cast it, watching with amusement as Harry's eyes widened. It looked as though the young man had never experienced a refreshing charm before. _Interesting_. 

Harry sort of hopped into his pants and jeans, he put them on so fast. When he was ready to go, he turned back one last time. "Well, okay. Bye, then, I guess."

Severus held up a hand. "One moment. Have you given much thought to your meeting tomorrow with Arthur Weasley?"

"No, I really think better on the fly--"

Severus wasn't terribly shocked that a Gryffindor would take that approach. "I can be there if you think it would help. If you would like me to explain... anything?"

Harry bit his lip. "Uh, thanks. But no. You know, the whole idea is to help him see I'm not being coerced. Your being around would just make that harder."

"Yes, of course." Severus understood all that, but he'd still wanted to offer. "Regardless, if you do need me, I will be in my private potions laboratory. All you need do to gain my attention is rap twice on the head of the snake at the entrance to the tunnel."

"I thought it was a work of art, not a guardian." 

Severus smiled a bit ruefully. "It can function as both, though it usually does not. I was... out of sorts that night, Harry."

The young man thrust his hands into his jeans pockets. "Yeah, I guess you were." 

"Harry," Severus said when the young man reached the bedroom door. "Sleep well. I will see you on Monday."

"Yeah. Um... speaking of Monday, did you mean that bit? _Only_ what I want?"

When Severus nodded, Harry blew out a breath. "'Night, then."

"Good night." 


	31. Chapter 31

 

 

** Sunday, June 7, 1998 --- 12:05 p.m. **

Arthur Weasley emerged hesitantly, as though he wasn't really sure he was in the right place. 

"Thanks for coming, Mr Weasley," Harry said, off to one side. "Can I take your cloak? How was your trip from the Burrow?"

"A bit long," Arthur admitted, glancing with both curiosity and concern in his kind eyes. Well, those weren't too hard to figure out. He'd gotten a letter from Albus Dumbledore asking him to Floo directly to Severus Snape's quarters, and as if that wasn't strange enough, he found Harry Potter waiting for him? He shrugged off his cloak and held it out rather absently, his mind clearly on other matters. "Will Albus or Severus be joining us to discuss whatever brings me here?"

Harry pushed off from the wall he'd been leaning on, and taking the cloak, hung it on the short peg that popped out of the wall as he approached. "The headmaster wants to see you after you've spoken with me," he disclosed. "So, we'll have lunch and then he'll expect you up in his office."

Arthur blinked. "But where is Severus? And why on earth are you in his rooms?"

"He's brewing this morning, and as for what I'm doing here..." Harry sighed. "You'd better sit down before I tell you. Come through here." He led the way into Snape's private library and gestured toward the small table already set for their meal. 

A tureen of hearty beef stew and a basket of warm crusty rolls appeared on the table as Harry sat down. Harry had had time today, of course, to think up something fancier, but since the goal of this meeting was to look like he was at home in Snape's rooms, he'd thought it best to avoid the sorts of pretentious foods Snape preferred. Ron's father knew what kinds of things Harry liked to eat. The tureen was deliberate, too. Harry had figured that serving the food out would him seem more a host than a guest himself.

"So," he said as he ladled a portion into each of the simple stoneware bowls that had materialised the moment he'd reached for the tureen, "I asked the headmaster to invite you here because we need to discuss some Order business, actually."

Arthur paused with his spoon half-way to his mouth. "You aren't in the Order."

"No," Harry admitted. "But Severus is, and the two of us need a favour from you."

"The two of you," Arthur doubtfully repeated. "Have you any idea how odd that sounds? You never did explain what you were doing here."

"I'm going to be living here after the term ends," Harry stated, keeping his voice calm only with considerable effort. The idea still appalled him, because, after all, what was he going to _do_ all day? At least he didn't have to worry about going hungry like he had so many times when the Dursleys had locked him up, but still... 

_What is, is,_ he told himself. _And you can't show Mr Weasley how upset you are._

"Severus and I are going to invoke a special kind of bonding spell," Harry went on, buttering his roll just as if he wasn't saying anything the least bit unusual. "A slavery spell, in fact. I have to invite someone I trust to witness the invocation, and I trust you, Mr Weasley. Would you be willing to be my witness?"

Probably that wasn't the best way to break the news. Arthur dropped his spoon into his stew. 

"Sorry," Harry said, shaking his head. "I know it's a shock."

"You've never got on with Severus," Arthur objected. "What are you going on about?"

"Order business, remember? It's about defeating Voldemort," Harry explained, then briefly detailed the prophecy. 

The other man took a bread roll, but didn't eat it. He tore it into pieces as he listened, then said with some ferocity, "And Albus Dumbledore approved this plan, did he? Harry Potter enslaved? It's an outrage!"

"It's either that or I die," Harry answered. He didn't really want to go on, but he had to tell Ron's father the rest. Better that than he hear it from the headmaster and start to think that Harry might not know. And Harry had to more than show he knew, he had to seem all right with it. Well, as all right as he could, which wasn't much. Scenes from the night before had been playing in his head from the moment he'd woken up. Had that really been _him_ , lying beneath Snape, the both of them naked, chest to chest, thigh to thigh, _grinding_ against each other until... oh, _God_ , they'd both come all each other's bellies? It couldn't have been him, could it? With a girl maybe, yeah, but with another _man?_

With _Snape?_

 _What is, is_ , that little voice answered in his head. Only this time, it sounded sort of amused.

Harry finally mustered his courage. "Mr. Weasley, there's something else you have to know. The spell we're using... _Cambiare Podentes._ It's invoked through Sex Magic."

At that, Arthur Weasley just stared.

"Yeah, I know," Harry sighed. 

"Do you?" Arthur picked up the spare spoon the table had provided and used it more or less like a pointer as he lectured Harry. "Sex Magic is nothing to trifle with. If the spell is an enslavement curse and it's invoked in a sexual manner... _Harry_ , you might just find yourself waking up the next day as Severus Snape's catamite! Do you know what that means?"

"Yeah, I know what that means. And um, that's actually the whole idea. I'm _supposed_ to end up his..." Harry didn't want to say _catamite_ , but he supposed that _sex slave_ was even worse. "Well, _his_ , that's all. His in every way, that one included."

Arthur frowned, the expression reaching all the way into his kind eyes. "Severus, Harry. He is... well, he is an interesting man in many ways and I for one wouldn't claim to understand him. But one thing I am sure of is that he cannot possibly countenance this."

"Well, I didn't get the impression that he liked the idea much at all when it was first announced, no," Harry admitted, trying to crack a smile. Might lighten the mood. He couldn't really smile, though. It was simply too painful hurting Mr Weasley like this. But he didn't want Ron's dad to think bad of Snape. Whatever his faults, Snape really didn't deserve that. "Listen, he pretty much tried to convince me that we'd made a mistake about the prophecy. But we hadn't. And then he wrote this scathing summary of all the spell would mean. I took it at face value at the time but now I can see how upset and angry he must have been while writing it. You know, I think maybe he was trying to talk me out of it. But that just wasn't on."

If Arthur had been flabbergasted before, now he was completely speechless. Well, almost completely. He did manage to croak, " _He_ was trying to talk _you_ out of it?"

"Yeah, I actually think he was," Harry admitted. He hadn't really seen it before, but the _tone_ of that précis... and then, all the effort Snape was going to lately to make Harry understand that the stupid précis wasn't the final word, might not even be accurate in places. Snape was sorry he'd written such a horrible thing, maybe. Or, maybe he wasn't _sorry,_ but he was definitely trying to give Harry a better picture of _Podentes._

Two glasses of water later, Arthur was able to speak again. "Why would Severus need to talk you out of it, Harry? Surely you can't want to invoke a spell like this with anyone, let alone a man you've many times described as the second worst person in the world and the ugliest git in Scotland?"

Harry flushed. "Look, I shouldn't have said either of those things. His looks aren't really relevant, are they? I should have been complaining about his teaching, not something he can't help, but what do you expect from a thirteen year-old? And as for him being second in evil only to... well, we didn't get on so well but he wasn't ever as bad as all that."

Arthur shook his head. "Harry--"

"Oh, all right! He was awful, I admit it!" Harry exclaimed, belatedly hoping that Snape wasn't listening in. Probably he was, the Slytherin, but there was nothing for it. "He treated me worse than dirt, year after year, even while he was saving my skin, and I sure didn't appreciate the way he'd always go on about my dad and my fame and how spoiled I was. But how can I let any of that matter to me _now,_ Mr. Weasley?"

"How can you not, is more the question!"

"Well I can let it go, because I have to! What do you want me to do, think about myself at a time like this? Hermione'll die! Ron too, probably along with your whole family. I mean you're purebloods, but anyone who opposes the new regime will be executed, I expect. That means _all_ my friends. I'm already responsible for so much death, Mr Weasley. My parents, and Cedric, and Sirius, and everybody Vol-- the Dark Lord has killed since I let Pettigrew go."

Arthur looked about to argue the point, but when he spoke it was to say in a voice thrumming with shock, "You-Know-Who... you didn't call him what you always have."

"Severus says not to," Harry admitted, grimacing. "He always said not to, and I ignored him. But there's no ignoring him now, is there? I have to start doing what he wants or his powers won't cross into mine."

"And you call him Severus."

"Also his idea."

"Harry, I honestly don't see how you can propose to live like this. It might be different if you'd ever had a shred of warm feeling toward Severus, or if you were at least..." Arthur looked away.

"Interested in blokes?"

"Precisely."

The truth was, Harry wasn't sure _what_ he was any longer. Well, he was sure he wasn't interested in blokes in general. That was just too horrible to think about. But after what he'd done with Snape the night before, he also couldn't claim to be entirely _uninterested,_ could he? Or, maybe he could. He'd tried hard not to think about it, despite those scenes flashing through his mind every few seconds, but maybe all last night had meant was that Snape hadn't been boasting when he'd said he definitely knew how to pleasure a man. Because he obviously did. Harry couldn't even really remember quite how they'd gone from kissing to rubbing together to coming like that. It all just flowed together in his mind, like he couldn't have stopped it if he'd tried... but then again, he _could_ have. He knew he could have.

Snape _would_ have stopped, but Harry hadn't asked him to, hadn't even given him a hint by shoving at his shoulder, or _anything_. So he could hardly blame Snape for what had happened, could he? Since when did a Slytherin not take what was obviously on offer?

Harry's face sort of burned at the idea that he'd been on offer. But he had been, and what was more, he'd been that way _willingly_. Snape hadn't coerced him, not at all. 

Well, maybe there was hope for the invocation yet. Which reminded him of what he'd meant to say before when he'd been going on about not wanting to get anybody else killed.

"It doesn't matter what I want, Mr Weasley," Harry said in a rather desperate tone. He hadn't expected this to be so hard. "Don't you see? Everybody I know is going to say I can't live like this, but the truth is, I can't _not_ live like this. Literally. I'll be the first one to die if Severus and I don't invoke the spell." 

"Oh, Harry--"

"I've been all through it, over and over," Harry went on. "It's all I think about, some days. I've been stuck my whole life with this destiny I didn't ask for; I'm the only one who can kill him. And now I know that it's actually worse than that -- if I fail, I don't just _die,_ I sentence the whole world to ten thousand years of doom. I _have_ to invoke this, Mr Weasley, I just have to!"

"But surely there must be some other way--"

"There isn't," Harry interrupted, wiping at his eyes. They ached strangely, but at least his hand came away dry. "There just _isn't._ This is the way and I ought to be grateful there's one at all, because I _know_ I'm not really a match for the... for him. But there's something else I think about a lot, Mr Weasley. My parents... they diedto protect me, to keep me alive. The least I can do _is_ live, isn't it, even like this, so I can rid the world of that monster once and for all? They did their part in saving me; how can I not do mine?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "Harry... don't do this for your parents' sake. James wouldn't want this. He really wouldn't."

"Well, he wouldn't want me dead, either, would he?" Harry sighed. "Look, I don't expect my parents would be too pleased with the idea of... me with Severus, but I'd like to think that at least they'd be proud I did my best. Because you see..." Oh damn, he was crying after all. Harry did his best to cut it out and soldier on. "I can't make a mockery of their sacrifice, Mr Weasley, I just can't."

Arthur wordlessly passed him a handkerchief and waited until Harry had gotten himself under control. Then, ever so gently, he murmured, "That phrase about mockery, that's Albus speaking, isn't it?"

"No, that's me, honest," Harry answered, blowing his nose into the handkerchief. A minute later he realised it wasn't even his, but Mr Weasley wouldn't mind. "Honest," he said again. "The headmaster's never said a word about my parents. Well, not in connection with this."

"What does he say?"

"I'm not _in_ this because of the headmaster," Harry tried to explain. "Look, all you have to do is ask yourself if you want to see me die on my next birthday. Personally, I'd like to deny that snake the satisfaction. No matter what it takes."

Pushing his stew bowl away--not that he'd eaten much--Arthur Weasley reached across the table to take Harry's hands in his own. He squeezed them in encouragement, and for just a moment Harry was transported to another life, one in which he'd had a father to stand by him, come what may.

To love him, and support him, and never, ever judge.

"How is Severus regarding all this?" Weasley softly asked.

"Oh. Well, he didn't like the idea, but he's willing to invoke with me, obviously," Harry said, drawing in a deep breath. Feeling stronger, he managed to lay aside the handkerchief. "He's willing to talk to you, too, if that's what it takes for you to agree to be my witness--"

"Harry, if you want me to be there for you I will be _there_ ," Arthur interrupted. 

Harry smiled. A wan smile, but at least that was something. "Thanks, Mr Weasley. I... well, to be honest I thought you might not agree. I know it's an awful thing to ask, know you can't want to see this happen. But in that case I'd just have to get someone else, but I'd rather it be you, really."

Arthur gave a small nod, his compassion never wavering. 

That made Harry feel just a little bit like a heel when he went on, "Uh, you've seen me through a lot of things and I appreciate all of it, but I also really wanted you to witness this because you work at the Ministry. See, my new status has to be registered."

"Registered." Arthur's tone was just a few shades short of blank. 

"Yeah. Spell requirement. We're not allowed to do this in secret. Anyway though, as soon as the Death Eaters know I'm enslaved, they'll start trying to find out to whom, and I think they'll figure things out pretty quickly. And you know what that'll mean for the Order. Severus won't be able to spy any longer."

"Merlin's word, he's surely not intending to invoke this with you and still carry on spying!"

"He sure as shite is," Harry snapped, suddenly _hoping_ Snape was listening in. "Is that the stupidest thing you've ever heard, or what?"

"Yes. I think it is."

"Yeah, but he won't listen to me," Harry sort of yelled, glancing around at the walls. Then he calmed down. "Anyway, whether he's trying to stay in the Inner Circle or not, it won't be very good for his health if the Death Eaters find out he owns me and didn't hand me over. So that's where you come in. We thought if the paperwork could be filed quietly, without some clerk gawking at my name, it would at least buy us some time."

"I'll do whatever I can to help you, of course." Arthur sighed, his hands squeezing Harry's again before letting go. "But I'd like an answer to my question. I didn't mean to ask how Severus felt about invoking this spell. I was asking how he has been... with you, Harry."

"Oh. Well, he's been pretty decent, actually," Harry murmured. Unfortunately, the word _decent_ had his memory conjuring up images of the previous night, images that were anything but decent. His face began to flame, the heat so severe Harry started to wish he hadn't worn a Weasley sweater. 

Arthur had the grace to look away until the worst of the blush had ebbed away. 

"We're going to invoke on the 17th of June," Harry managed to say in something approximating a normal tone. "I... I don't know what time. Evening, I think. Anyway, Albus Dumbledore is going to be the other witness. He and Severus will probably work out all the details and let you know."

"Wouldn't you rather wait until closer to your birthday to put yourself under an enchantment like this?"

"I would," Harry admitted, that blush back in force. Worse than before, if that was possible. "But it's probably better this way. I... maybe I didn't make it clear enough, but Severus and I, we have to... uh, do certain things before my birthday to keep me alive. And the thing is, the whole slavery thing, even the... um, sexual bits, it all has to be consensual. And... well, if we invoke just a couple of days beforehand, that might not give us enough time to... er, work that end of things out." Swallowing, Harry begged, "Mr. Weasley, can that be the end of your questions? This is really embarrassing."

"All right, Harry," Arthur said after a moment's thought. Reaching out, the older man patted him lightly on the hand. "If you ever need anything--"

Harry shook his head to stop him. "I know. Thanks, Mr Weasley."

He didn't say the rest since he didn't want to hurt the man's feelings. But Harry knew the truth. The offer, kind as it was, was moot. After the invocation had sealed his fate, he wouldn't have his friends to turn to any longer. He would only have Snape.

Sighing, Harry picked up his spoon and made a show of eating his stew.


	32. Chapter 32

 

 

  
  
  
  


** Monday, June 8, 1998 ---- 5:35 p.m. **

"Harry, what on earth is _wrong_ with you?" Hermione demanded as they left Transfiguration for the very last time. "I don't think you've paid attention for five minutes running today, not once, in any of our classes!"

"Oh, give him a break, Hermione," said Ron as he ambled along with them. "Honestly, what does it matter if he pays attention? We've taken our N.E.W.T.s already!"

"I'm not worried about his education, _Ronald_ , I'm worried about him!" She gave Ron a withering glare, then turned to Harry again. "Do you need to talk about... er, anything?"

He did, and he didn't. At any rate, the veiled reference to his sex life gave him an out with Ron, who had himself more than once that day asked Harry if he was all right. Ron hadn't bought it when Harry had said that nothing was, and since he really didn't want to fend off any more questions--or get in a fight if he couldn't, he went ahead and sighed, "Oh, well... I guess I may as well come clean. I _was_ seeing this girl, Ron. Rather not say who, it hardly matters now, anyway. But yeah... and she broke it off just last night. Yeah, dumped me..." Harry looked away, trying not to feel guilty about lying to Ron. Snape's reference to Harry's own dishonesty had cut a bit deeply.

"Oh, _mate_ , so sorry," breathed Ron, looking so glum-faced that Harry's guilt intensified about fivefold. "That must be why you came in so late, eh? Say, you know... there's this pretty little witch lives not too far from the Burrow, about our age, her Muggle father didn't want her coming to Hogwarts, but anyway, I've told her a bit about you and she's keen to meet you and--"

Harry was shaking his head vehemently. Ron, of course, misunderstood.

"Oh, she doesn't want to meet you because you're _you_ , I swear. Never mentioned your name. Just told her, you know, tall, dark-haired, Quidditch captain, good sense of humour--"

"I'm not tall!"

"Well, you are compared to her. Oh, come on, Harry! You're tall compared to most girls, you're tall enough--"

"No thanks," said Harry, a bit desperately by then.

Thankfully, Hermione was there to help him out. "Do you really want Harry going out with this witch on the rebound?" she questioned, a bit acidly. "Harry'll break her heart if he's not ready to date again, you know!"

"Oh," said Ron, the syllable drawn-out. "I... yeah, I suppose. You might need a while, I guess."

"Yeah, I might need a while," Harry numbly echoed. He wished he _could_ meet the pretty little witch, but when he thought about what she might look like, it seemed like all he could visualise was a fall of fine, black hair. Shoulder-length. Eyes so dark you could get lost in them--

Shaking his head to clear it, Harry realised that both his friends were staring at him. 

"You're doing it again," Ron said, his friendly voice concerned. "You've got that distant look..."

Harry wanted to kick himself. _Why_ couldn't he stop thinking about Snape? It was ridiculous. "I'm just depressed," he tried explaining, though the word really didn't fit his state of mind. 

"You want her back, don't you?" said Hermione in a voice that positively oozed sympathy. 

"What? Uh, no, no..." Harry tried to give Hermione a pointed look, one that would make her stop talking that way. She knew he didn't have a girlfriend; she knew that his problem, whatever it was, had to be all about Snape... 

Hermione didn't shut up, though. "Why don't you come outside with me, Harry?" she went blithely on. "Well talk about how you can fix things up. Is she the type to wear perfume every day? Because in that case, I'd recommend you owl her some ever-blooming flowers." She took him by the arm and started to tug him down the hall. "Now, if she's got more of a brainy personality, like me, what you could do is..." Hermione raised her voice to call back, "Oh, Ron, you're welcome to join us and chip in your own ideas."

Ron waved them off. "No, that's all right."

Harry sighed, but decided it was just easiest to let Hermione drag him along.

  
  
  
  


** Monday, June 8, 1998 ---- 5:48 p.m. **

The bailey on a summer afternoon was as good a place as any to talk, Harry supposed. At least it was deserted for the moment. Hermione chose a nice patch of lawn well away from the castle, but from which they could see quite a ways in each direction, and walled them in with silencing charms before she sat down and stretched out her legs, primly crossing her ankles.

After a moment, Harry decided he might as well sit down too. Since he really didn't know what to say to Hermione, he just sat there enjoying the afternoon breeze. Might as well, since after the seventeenth there was no telling how long he'd have to go between jaunts outside.

"You've been in an odd mood all day," Hermione started in about as tentative a voice as he'd ever heard. "And... well, I'm really sorry if I gave you bad advice, Harry. I... the way you described what was going on between you and Snape I really didn't think he'd try anything that would turn out badly..."

Harry's brow furrowed as he tried to figure out what she meant. Then he remembered that the last time they'd talked about Snape, Harry had been worried about _fingers_. And Hermione had advised him to go ahead and let Snape...

Funny, it seemed like forever had passed since he'd been sitting out by the lake with Hermione, discussing the matter.

"Oh no, no, we haven't even got to that," Harry said all in a rush. 

"Then _what?_ " Hermione pressed. "All day long you just kept getting this _look_ , Harry, like you were dreading something, and you wouldn't talk to me hardly at all, so what could I think but that my advice had gone horribly wrong?"

"I wasn't talking to anybody else much today either, was I?" Harry shrugged.

"But what has you so upset?"

"Not sure if _upset_ is really the right word." Sighing, Harry leaned back on his hands as he sat cross-legged. "I just feel very... distracted. I can't concentrate today. And if I looked like I was dreading something... well, I don't know. It might just be that..." Deciding to employ the method that had worked so well on Saturday, Harry took a deep, deep breath, and spoke without thinking as he exhaled. "I had sex with Severus."

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes going wide for an instant.

"Yeah, I know." Harry's fingers curled through the grass, digging into the soil. "I have to after the invocation anyway, but I really shouldn't have--"

"Why not?"

Harry closed his eyes. "Because... Because it's all wrong, that's why!"

Hermione made a little noise of understanding. "Oh, Harry, no. Two men together, that's not wrong--"

"Well thank you for explaining the bloody obvious!" Harry erupted, clenching his fingers so tightly in the dirt that one fingernail snapped as it scraped against a rock.

Hermione bit her lip. "Sorry."

Scarcely mollified, Harry glared at her. "Sorry, right. For thinking I'm a total bigot, and after all we've been through together--" Sighing then, he tried to move past the horribly tight feeling in his chest. "I didn't mean that, all right? I meant that it's wrong for me, that's all."

"But how is it wrong for you?"

"Why do you think? I'm not even attracted to men, and I ended up... oh, _God_." Harry rubbed his temples. "He came all over me, and at the time it just seemed... well, I was hardly in a position to object. I'd just come all over _him_. It only seemed right he should too, and besides... I _wanted_ him to come. I could feel him getting closer and closer and--"

Harry suddenly stopped talking. "This isn't what you want to hear, I'm pretty sure."

"If it's what you want to say, then yes it is," retorted Hermione. "Do I need to summon a dictionary and let you look up the meaning of _anything?_ "

Harry laughed, a little of his tension easing. It did help to talk. He was lucky he had Hermione, since he certainly couldn't imagine saying things like that to Snape. "Well, the thing is," he went on, "I can't really even figure out how it all happened! That's the worst part. I mean, I was there, but one thing just led to the next and the next until..."

"It sounds hot," said Hermione with a straight face, and then, when Harry gaped at her, she shrugged. "Well, you know, good sex _is_ , Harry."

"It was hot," Harry reluctantly admitted. "But really, I think that must have had something to do with the Dragon's Happy, 'cause I couldn't stop touching his hair, and that feeling kind of came back when he asked if I'd brush it and--" Harry flopped onto his back. "It just _happened,_ I swear!"

He heard a rustling noise, and then Hermione was right beside him, her body blocking the sun from his view. She tapped his shoulder sharply, her eyebrows drawing together. "Professor Snape gave you Dragon's Happy and then he had sex with you? Forget about _hot;_ that's practically rape, Harry! And with a drug like that in your system, no wonder you can't figure out how it happened--"

"No, _no,_ Hermione!" Harry shouted, jerking himself back up into a sitting position. "It wasn't like that!"

She gave him a look that was half doubt and half pity. "Well, you did say he liked to take charge in bed, Harry."

"Well, I think he does, but--"

Before he could tell her about the new _put Harry in charge_ plan, Hermione sailed right on. "Listen, Harry, you've got nothing to feel guilty about. I don't know what Snape thinks he's _doing_ , but you have to tell Dumbledore about this. That précis said everything had to be consensual, remember. And anyway, I don't care _what_ kind of binding this _Cambiare Podentes_ is, Snape can't be allowed to treat you this way, he just can't!"

"He treats me really well," Harry heard himself defending Snape. "Really, Hermione. He gave me a towelling robe the right size--"

" _What?_ "

Harry almost swore. "I'm not explaining things very well. Listen, all right? He gave me the Dragon's Happy to test me for allergies, that's all. It's in the potion I have to drink at the invocation. And it made me go a little mad for his hair..." The more he talked about it, the more he remembered. "And he told me to control myself, yeah. He didn't take advantage, honest."

"Well it certainly sounds as though he did so later!"

"No, it wasn't like that," Harry said again. "Actually it's all really complicated. By the time we had... um, sex, the Dragon's Happy was all gone. Severus had me sleep it off. And then I spent a while reading my dad's school records, which pretty much proves I was over the Dragon's Happy, because I couldn't read while I was... uh, high. Anyway though--"

"Why would you have been reading your father's school records?"

"Oh. Well, I had my mum's too, actually. Severus dug them up in case they had any information about allergies that run in my family, and he let me read them. You know, I don't know much about my parents."

"Have you noticed you're calling him Severus?"

"Well, he doesn't like _sir_ or _professor_ any longer."

Hermione brushed her hair back from her face. "No, you're calling him that now as you talk with me."

Harry blinked. "Really?"

Nodding, Hermione gave him a tentative smile. "Really."

"Oh..." Harry wasn't sure what he thought of that. Probably it meant he was more comfortable about everything... though when he thought of Snape's naked body sliding back and forth on top of his, he felt really... he wasn't sure. But whatever it was, _comfortable_ didn't describe it.

"All right, so he gave you the Dragon's Happy for a good reason, not to... er, seduce you. I guess I should stop jumping to conclusions. But Harry, it did sound really... well, suspicious."

Harry managed to laugh. Well, some. "I bet. If you'd told me some bloke had drugged you and then you'd ended up in bed not really knowing how it happened, I'd hex him into next week. So yeah, I can understand."

Her fingertips dancing on a bent knee, Hermione softly questioned, "But how can you not know how it happened? I mean..." She cleared her throat. "If he swept you off your feet then it all makes sense, but in that case I can't imagine why you'd have been looking so unhappy all day."

"Because I'm not attracted to men, Hermione, and I ended up... well, you know. And it was..." Harry gulped. "Oh, _God_. I can't even describe how good it was. I... I thought I was going to pass out for a second there." He would have said more... in fact he wanted to; he had this burning urge to talk and talk and talk about how it felt and what he'd thought and how strong and firm Snape had felt on top of him and how _soft_ the man's hair was when it brushed his shoulder as they moved together in that perfect rhythm... 

"How do you know?"

Harry stared at her. "That I thought I would pass out? Well, the room started tilting awfully fast--"

Hermione blew out a breath of air that sent a tendril of hair flying upwards. "No, I meant how do you know you aren't attracted to men?"

Now Harry was _really_ staring. "Well, 'cause I'm not!" he exclaimed. "I think I'd know a thing like that!"

"Actually it takes some people a while to sort of... um, settle into their feelings. You wouldn't be at all unusual to still be figuring it out at eighteen, Harry. Besides, look at what you've dealt with in the last few years! It's no wonder you haven't had time for any romances--"

"There was Cho," Harry interrupted, feeling sort of offended.

"Right, and when that didn't work out... Harry, that was years ago."

"Just because I've been too busy fighting dark wizards to _date_ , Hermione, doesn't mean I'm... I'm..." He couldn't even say the word.

"Of course it doesn't!" Hermione exclaimed. "Look Harry, I've never thought about it one way or the other up until now. Nobody living your life would have wanted to date, especially after what happened to Sirius. It wasn't safe for you to care about anybody that way, so you didn't. And I respect you for that, more than you can know. All I'm saying is that if you _are_ attracted to men, I don't think you'd necessarily realise as much."

"Well, I'm not," Harry stubbornly held his ground. "In fact, I really think things only got out of hand because I'd spent the whole day being so angry. I felt like I needed to throw things half the time I was there on Saturday, and I bottled it all up tight. And then he turned everything around on me and I wasn't expecting it so of _course_ I got a little bit confused!"

Hermione held up a hand. "Why were you so angry?"

Harry flopped onto his back again. "Because Severus... oh shite, you're right. Well, anyway, he's total fucking liar."

He was glad Hermione didn't point out that they knew that, or worse, that she'd told him so. "What did he lie about?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry sighed. "Anyway, it's really embarrassing."

When she breathed out, Harry couldn't help but recognise it as her I'm-going-to-get-to-the-bottom-of-this sigh. "Well, if you're going to blame what happened in bed on the fact that you'd felt angry all day, I think it does matter. And I don't really see how you can be embarrassed _now_ , Harry. I do already know that you had sex with Snape and... er, liked it."

"Yeah, I liked it," Harry groused, wishing he hadn't. "All right, fine. He let me think all along that he didn't like _me_ , all right? Sexually, I mean. Well, of course I mean sexually. It's not as if he's ever going to like me any other way! But anyway, I found out yesterday that he'd actually been using an _impotence potion!_ And when he doesn't use it, he... uh..."

Harry tried the _blurt_ method again. "He gets hard just looking at me!"

"Right, and you should have known that all along." Hermione nodded sagely.

"Hermione...." Harry tried again. "Don't you get it? He.... _wants_ me! _That_ way!"

"Well, it certainly clears up why he called you his lover, I would think." Hermione smiled, but the expression faltered after a moment. "That upsets you?"

"Well, _yeah!_ " Harry practically shouted.

"Let me see if I understand," said Hermione with a slight glare down at him as she sat cross-legged in the grass. "You're going to be with this man for the rest of your life. You're going to have to sleep with him. And you just did so for the first time and you found out he's really quite... er, nice, that way. And you're upset because he's physically attracted to you?"

Harry pushed up on his hands and stayed that way, leaning back on them with his legs stretched out in front of him. "Yeah, that's right." He nodded in relief that she finally seemed to understand.

Only, she didn't understand.

"But that's no reason to be upset!" Hermione was staring at him strangely, by then. "Harry, did you want to have to sleep with someone who _didn't_ like you that way? Who was forcing himself to touch you?"

"Well, it might be better than--"

"No, it wouldn't! You're an attractive young man and you _deserve_ to have someone appreciate that fact!"

"But it means he'll want sex all the time, Hermione!"

"But you said sex with him was fantastic, Harry!" she retorted, mimicking his tone.

Harry closed his eyes. Yeah, fantastic. That described it, all right. Start to finish fantastic. But he'd never said so. "I said it was good. The point though, is that it doesn't matter how good it was, I might not want to have sex all the time anyway!"

Hermione smiled then, just as if she thought he was being silly. Or maybe, as if he was arguing just for the sake of it. "Why not?"

"Because he's _Snape?_ "

 _There,_ Harry thought. _I don't call him Severus._

"Harry... look, I understand who he is and how the two of you have felt about each other since that very first day of class, but if you're going to bed with him and liking it, that must mean less to you than it used to. I think you're fighting as hard as you can against the idea of liking it, or him liking you, _because he's Snape_. But that's sort of immature, don't you think? Do you want him treating you a certain way just _because you're Harry Potter?_ "

"No," Harry admitted.

"Right, of course not. So maybe you should be the bigger person here--actually, I'm positive you're the bigger person--and start absolutely disregarding all the old history. Think of him as a new man you've just met. One you've had a... well, torrid first night with. And see what else can come from that."

Her _bigger_ person comment filled Harry with conflicting impulses. He felt like telling her that Snape was doing pretty well at seeing him as just Harry, these days. He also strangely felt like claiming that Snape definitely _was_ the bigger person... at least in one particular way. Why he felt like sharing details about Snape's body though... that was beyond him.

"Nothing can come from that," Harry answered, depressed. "He's _not_ somebody I've just met. He's somebody I have to be with whether I want to or not."

Hermione's hand covered his, soft and warm. "I know. Harry, I know this is difficult for you, all of it, and the fact that you never had a chance to sort out for yourself what sorts of people attract you... that has to make it worse. But as much as it might bother you, you did enjoy what you and Snape did the last time you saw him. So, I think you ought to seize whatever happiness you can. There's no virtue in trying to be miserable just because Snape wouldn't have been your first choice if things had been different."

"I'm not _trying_ to be miserable," Harry said.

 _Aren't you?_ said a little voice inside. _Isn't that why you've been dreading going back to him tonight, because you'd rather be miserable and you know how hard that's going to be? Aren't you afraid of the way he put you in charge, afraid he'll keep his word and do it again? Because how can you be desperately unhappy about sleeping with him when you're the one deciding that you will? _

"I hope not," said Hermione. "And it doesn't sound as if Snape is trying to make you miserable, either. You said yourself he treats you well, and went so far as to let you read your parents' records. So... it's not what you would have chosen, no. But maybe it can all somehow work out. The sex is a good sign, I have to think. I mean, that it was so good for you."

"And this is the woman who started S.P.E.W.," Harry groused. "I wouldn't think _you_ would ever claim that slavery was going to work out."

"Well, unlike with the elves, that part can't be helped." Hermione gripped his hand a little more tightly. "I don't like it, Harry. I hate it, more than you can know. But at this point, that can't matter. You're going to invoke this spell and you're going to be his slave; I've accepted it. And so have you. That doesn't mean you have to be a _victim_. If the sex is good then it's _good._ You shouldn't hesitate to enjoy that. Or Snape."

"Enjoy. Snape." Harry slowly repeated. "Are you insane?"

Hermione quietly smiled. "But you already did enjoy him, Harry. I just don't see the benefit in your trying so hard to tell yourself you didn't."

Harry hesitated, then admitted, "I thought you'd think it was... um, pretty awful that I did, actually."

"Because it's Snape?" Hermione shook her head. "I love you, Harry. I want you very much for you to be happy. If the sex is good then at least there's a place to start; that's what I think. As long as you're sure it _is_ consensual, that is."

"It is..."

"Then let yourself indulge. Find out just how good it can get. And maybe then, when it comes time to invoke, you won't feel nearly as nervous about a life with him. Because Harry... once you're grown up, sex really is a big part _of_ life."

Harry had to wonder why she thought that. Had she and Ron... oh, maybe it was just the fact that Hermione could talk about things like this. He had the feeling her parents were pretty liberal.

"Come on, dinner," she said, standing up and brushing off her robes. "Unless there's something else to discuss?"

"I need to think some things over," Harry said, waving for her to go. "Plans."

Hermione pulled her hair back behind her ears. "What are you planning?"

"I'm not sure yet," Harry answered. "But it's between myself and Severus, anyway. He's sort of... leaving some things up to me, these days. And I've been avoiding making any decisions. But you're right. What is, _is,_ and feeling bad about it isn't doing me any good. I should probably just go ahead and... _indulge_."

Her eyes went wide. "He's leaving _those_ sorts of things up to you?"

"Well I said he didn't force me, didn't I?" snapped Harry. And then, "Sorry. I'm kind of nervous. But I really do want to think about what I should say to him later, all right? So you go off to dinner." He frowned. "Tell Ron I'm too upset to eat."

"Are you?"

"No, not so much now. I'm just not hungry."

Hermione nodded then, and left Harry to his thoughts.

  
  
  
  


** Monday, June 8, 1998 ---- 6:55 p.m. **

Severus frowned as he peered into his mirror. He'd spelled off his protective lotion as usual when he'd returned from dinner in the Great Hall, but he thought his hair still looked a little... _oily..._ in places. He cast the removal spell again, poking his wand into his hair here and there, only to scowl when the mirror made light of his efforts. 

"It's clean as a whistle, dearie. Why don't you deal with a few of those split ends if you want to look your best for your young man?"

"Quiet or I'll tell the elves to let you tarnish," Severus growled, pointing his wand to underline the threat. 

Come to think of it, though, the mirror might have a point, Severus thought as he grabbed a few locks of hair and examined the ends. A few _Cortus_ spells later... There, that was better.

"Dearie," began the mirror.

"Tarnish!"

The mirror sighed, but gave in.

It was gone seven by then, so Severus hurried into his parlour and settled himself into a chair to wait for Harry. Then again, Harry usually sat on the settee, and Severus thought he'd rather be closer to _his young man_. Maybe the blasted mirror wasn't so useless after all. That was quite a nice phrase.

So, the settee, yes. Severus got up to move.

But he'd forgotten wine. A half-sized bottle tonight, perhaps, so Harry wouldn't over consume again. He ordered a nice French red, something layered and robust, bursting with flavour, before he remembered that Harry seemed to prefer dessert wines to anything else. Banishing his first choice, he asked the kitchens for a sickly sweet _Chateau d'Yquem._ When liqueur glasses blinked into existence he was a bit irritated. The elves had probably thought that tiny glasses went well with the small-sized bottle, which showed what _they_ knew about fine dining. He sent them back and demanded proper Madeira glasses before it occurred to him that since Harry probably knew less than the elves, it couldn't possibly matter. 

But still, Severus wanted everything this evening to be perfect.

Settling in again, this time on the settee, Severus crossed one leg over the other and took up a Potions journal to read. Hmm. Harry didn't much care for Potions, did he? Perhaps it wouldn't be the right note on which to begin their evening for him to Floo in and see Severus deeply engrossed in the journal. Not that Severus had actually been engrossed. All he could think about was Harry. 

How Harry had looked on Saturday as he'd twisted beneath him, arching his back, crying out, coming. How he'd sweetly gasped there at the end, and clutched at Severus, and _moaned..._

Jumping up, Severus shoved the Potions journal onto the nearest bookcase and snatched something else to read. _Origins of the Dark Arts?_ A bit grim. _Goblin Warfare in Early Mediaeval Wales With Particular Attention to the Vagaries of Weather and Clime?_ No, Harry had scored a Dreadful on his History O.W.L., after all.

Severus wouldn't want to bring up any bad memories, would he?

Ah, _1001 Wizard Nights._ That would do. And really, it wasn't as though Harry would be shocked to come in and find Severus reading erotica. Doubtless, Harry wouldn't even realise it _was_ erotica. Severus settled in a third time, book in hand, deciding that it might give him some creative ideas for what he could do with Harry later that night.

Only to realise that he wasn't going to be able to use any of them. It would be up to Harry what they did and didn't do. Well, perhaps the ideas would be useful at some point in the future, Severus told himself. As to what _Harry_ might have them do... he could scarcely contain his anticipation. Of course the young man was bound to be nervous, so it wasn't as though Severus was expecting _too_ terribly much to happen. Just the fact that Harry would be leading though... that was terribly exciting all by itself.

Finally, Severus wouldn't have to feel that he was dragging his lover along in his wake, demanding too much, too soon...

Where _was_ Harry, though? When Severus cast _Tempus,_ he realised it was more than a quarter past seven. Well, something must have delayed him. A last minute Quidditch match again? Perhaps Harry would come in all sweaty and Severus could suggest a shower and they could wash more than each other's backs this time...

 _No,_ Severus mentally castigated himself. _No, no, no._

He wasn't going to lead; he was going to let Harry decide how they spent the evening, _and_ he was going to do a better job of that than he had on Saturday. Really, moving atop the young man-- _his_ young man, he thought gleefully to himself--and rubbing back and forth against him in that slow, building rhythm... Well, it had been lovely, of course. But perhaps a little bit presumptuous, as well. 

Was that why Harry was so late? Because he thought Severus had failed to deliver on his promise to let Harry lead? 

Then again, Harry hadn't seemed to be objecting any on Saturday night. He hadn't said _no_ , or _stop_ ; he hadn't even complained about it afterwards. He'd just been... awkward, a little bit embarrassed, more than a little bit concerned about what they should do next, as if there was some sort of script they had to follow. 

Maybe that was why it was now twenty past and Harry still hadn't come through the Floo. He seemed to have a rather high level of anxiety about what was normal, and since he was so inexperienced he wasn't in a position to know what was and wasn't. Perhaps he didn't _want_ to lead? But no, he'd seemed content enough with that when he'd left on Saturday. And really, he'd responded marvellously well to the change in the dynamic between them. 

Or had he? It wasn't lost on Severus that he hadn't let Harry lead, not right at the end when they'd begun that beautiful frottage. That hadn't been Harry's idea.

But if he didn't want it, then why hadn't he objected? Severus had, after all, been _very_ clear that Harry could...

Seven twenty-five, and his thoughts were going around in circles, Severus realised. He was normally much more of an incisive thinker, so all this indecision and second-guessing himself could only mean one thing.

 _His young man_ was getting to him a good bit more than was probably advisable. 

And where _was_ he? 

Perhaps, Severus reflected, he'd misjudged everything and Harry had decided not to bother coming down at all. Severus had said he could do as he liked. Perhaps what Harry _liked_ wasn't an evening with Severus, but time spent with his friends, playing Exploding Snap or Gobstones or some other rubbish. Perhaps some part of Harry didn't grasp the immediacy of the need for practise.

 _Perhaps after the way Saturday went, he doesn't think we need to practise, _Severus thought with dismay. Though no, they'd agreed he would come down again on Monday, so that couldn't be it, could it?

By the time seven-thirty rolled around, Severus had had enough. By then, he didn't know if Harry's absence stemmed from embarrassment, naïveté, overconfidence, or just plain stubbornness, but he was going to put an end to it. He stepped into the Floo and tossed a pinch of powder down, shouting for Dumbledore's office.

But before the flames could engulf him and send him spinning, something solid knocked him straight out of the fireplace, and then landed on top of him and coughed up a cloud of ash.

It took Severus a moment to realise that the wards on his Floo hadn't failed. That in fact, the something solid was none other than one very late--and ash-covered--Harry Potter. 

He hurriedly put away the wand he'd automatically drawn, feeling a little shaken that he so easily could have hexed the young man.

 _His_ young man.

As Harry moved to the side, still coughing, Severus stood up and offered Harry a hand up as well. "Are you all right?"

Harry didn't really answer that, though amidst the sputtering Severus did catch the words, ".... _hate_ Floo-travel..."

Severus frowned, as that had more than a little bearing on the plans he'd worked so hard on these past few weeks. "Do you really?"

"Yeah." Grabbing the water Severus had conjured on the spot, Harry quaffed it, then wiped at his sooty face. "Maybe it's more a case of the Floo hates me. Everybody else seems to do all right. I always end up covered in ash or falling out of it on my arse." His green eyes narrowed to slits. "Though that's the first time I've actually collided with someone. Were you going somewhere?"

"To look for you."

Harry's eyes widened. "To _look_ for me?"

"Yes," answered Severus, thinking fast when it came to him that he couldn't really have stomped to Gryffindor Tower and demanded his Harry come out. "Or rather, to request that Albus summon you. Because really, Harry, I can't think we're fully prepared for the invocation. Can you?"

"No, of course not..."

"Then why the bloody hell did you keep me waiting so long?" roared Severus.

"Why, what time is it?" Harry drew his wand and cast a quick _Tempus._ "Oh. Sorry. I lost track, I guess."

"You _guess?_ "

"Severus..." As Harry looked up, something sort of understanding seemed to flash through his eyes. "Why would you think I wasn't coming?"

"Because I gave you the choice not to." Sighing, Severus went and sat on the settee, his arms folded in front of him. 

Harry shrugged off his ash-laden robe and hung it, then sat down next to him. _Right_ next to him. That boded well...

"Technically I have the choice not to invoke at all, you know," Harry quietly reminded him. "But I'm not that foolish, so I don't know why you'd think I would do anything to endanger the invocation."

"Then why are you so late?"

"Thinking," said Harry. "You took me by surprise on Saturday, you know, and after that I had a lot on my mind."

"So much that you neglected to come to dinner." Severus repressed an urge to scowl. "And where did you do your thinking, out in a field somewhere?" He lifted up Harry's hand to get a better look at the finger with the nail broken off almost at the cuticle, frowning at the dirt ground into wound.

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, that's a bit sore. I don't suppose you have a nail-growing potion handy?"

"One moment." 

When Severus returned with it, Harry was shaking his head. "I was joking, Severus. I didn't really think you had one."

Severus gently spelled Harry's finger clean, then let a drop of potion fall onto where the nail had been. Harry winced, biting his lip until the magic had finished doing its work. "Bit soft," he said, poking gingerly at the newly grown nail.

"It will harden." Severus looked Harry over critically. "Have you been fighting with Malfoy again?"

"He stays away from me, now. Ever since Madame Pomfrey had to scrape him off the walls."

"Then who were you fighting with?"

Harry leaned back against the settee and closed his eyes. "I don't know why you're so determined I must have been fighting. I got that talking with Hermione."

Severus waited, but Harry said nothing further. "Perhaps you could explain?"

"Oh. Well, I got a little agitated at one point and sort of clawed my hands into the dirt as I was listening to her."

"What could she have said that agitated you to that degree?"

Harry's answer seemed evasive, Severus thought. 

"Um, I can't remember exactly. Might have been after I mentioned the Dragon's Happy. Because that made her think you'd... uh, had your wicked way with me... um, against my will."

Severus shifted on the sofa until he was half-facing Harry, then reached out a hand and shook the young man's shoulder. "The Dragon's Happy was not a factor in what happened after our bath. You do realise that?"

Harry opened his eyes. "Yeah. Don't worry, I'm not under any illusions. I know it was all consensual. I even told her so." He looked away as though considering something, then snapped his gaze back to Severus. "Um, you know... I was feeling sort of awkward about what we did together, you know, the rubbing thing?"

"Frottage," Severus said softly, his fingers trailing down from Harry's shoulder to rest against the young man's strong forearm. 

"Is that what it's called?" Harry's blush grew deeper, which made Severus wonder if the word sounded as enticing to Harry as it did to him. "Yeah. _Frottage_ , all right. So like I said, I was feeling a little... uh, well, it was good at the time but afterwards it's just embarrassing thinking I did that with anyone, but Hermione sort of got me over it, I think."

Severus coughed as he let Harry's arm go. "You don't appear to have many secrets from Miss Granger."

"You should be glad of it," Harry admitted, looking away again. "Since she told that if the sex was good then I should just... er, enjoy you."

The room suddenly felt much too warm to Severus. "Ah. And what would your view on that be?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, she said I was trying to be miserable. I didn't think I was, but looking back... yeah, maybe some. Anyway, I thought I'd try it. I am kind of nervous still. Even though I really don't think you're going to laugh at me. I mean, you haven't laughed yet, and I thought all along you would, you know, sooner or later."

"You thought I would _laugh_ at you?" queried Severus, confused. "Why would I?"

"Because I don't know anything. Not even what all that rubbing was called, or what I should have said afterwards, or..."

"I think I told you before that I find your innocence... pleasing," Severus assured the young man. "I shouldn't ever have said that it would be a burden to me. To think... no, to know that I will be the only one to ever touch you that way..." He cleared his throat again, unsure how to continue that line of thought. He'd never been possessive of his lovers before.

But then again, how could he have been? 

He'd never, ever had a lover like Harry, someone who was his and his alone. Again that feeling that the young man was a precious gift seemed to rise up in him, and Severus suddenly wished he had a strong firewhiskey to douse the feeling. 

Harry was staring at him. "You didn't like it at first, but now you think it's... hot that I was a virgin, don't you?"

"Not the word I would have chosen," murmured Severus. "But essentially accurate."

Harry spoke as though he were reluctant to go on, but was pulling forth his reserves of Gryffindor courage to keep speaking. "So... um, I don't really know what I'm doing, but I wanted to check... am I still in the driver's seat? You know, when it comes to the... um, sex?"

It took Severus a moment to make sense of the Muggle reference. "Yes, yes. I meant that. I should have begun it weeks ago--"

He was more than a bit startled when Harry laid a finger across Severus' lips to shush him. "No should haves," the young man corrected. "I don't think they help us."

"And.... what would?" Severus asked in a husky voice, the anticipation all but killing him as he waited to hear what Harry wanted. _Kiss my fingers, kiss my neck, kiss me.... _or after all his time spent thinking, would he be a little bit more forward than that, and ask for something a good deal more intimate?

"Well, to start with I feel grotty so I think I'll wash my face," said Harry, standing. "That Floo trip was worse than usual. We'll have to come up with some sort of system so we don't collide again, I think. But that can wait. Um... would you mind getting me something for dinner, Severus? I wasn't hungry earlier but now I'm famished."

A little dumbfounded by the rapid shift from the sensual to the mundane, Severus could only question, "Do you fancy anything in particular?"

Harry shrugged. "Oh, I don't care. Pick something you think I'd like."

With that he was walking off to have his wash, and Severus was left wondering if the request for food wasn't actually some sort of test. The question was, what would Harry fancy?


	33. Chapter 33

 

 

  
  
  
  


** Monday, June 8, 1998 ---- 7:44 p.m. **

"Fish and chips," said Harry approvingly as began to tuck in. "Good choice."

Severus tried hard not to look as pleased as he felt that he'd got it right. "So, this evening," he began. "I do fully intend to place you in the... er, driver's seat, as you put it, but I thought that before we got to that it would be wise to practice the incantation."

Harry finished chewing his bite, then proceeded to speak for almost a minute straight in archaic Hindustani. His accent was far from perfect, but it was certainly adequate. In fact, Severus could find nothing to fault. He smiled slightly. "Well, that certainly didn't take long."

Shrugging, Harry remarked, "I say it several times a day like you wanted. Every time I go to the loo, in fact."

"That's an... odd study technique."

"Well that way I don't forget to practise."

It still struck Severus as bizarre, but he was hardly going to quarrel with success. "So, as the incantation needs no work, have you thought on what else you'd like to do this evening?"

"Mmm-hmm." Harry proceeded to sprinkle enough malt vinegar on his fried cod to drown it.

Severus waited, but no more information was forthcoming. "And?"

"Wait and see." Harry looked up and grinned, probably at the look on Severus' face. "Yeah, it's not exactly great fun being on the other side of the pitch, is it? You just have to sit there and wonder what I have in mind, and for all you know, I might want to play Exploding Snap for several hours straight."

"I believe I gave you _carte blanche_ on intimacies, Harry, not--" Severus rethought his remarks and began again. "I think you know I was asking your plans in regard to sexual matters."

Harry's grin faded. He speared a chip and devoured it before replying. "About those. I... uh, well I did some thinking, like I said. And I came to some conclusions." Clearing his throat, he looked away. "You know how I have to.... er, come three times in the ritual bath? Well, honestly, I thought we'd better..."

"Try the bath again?" Severus gently prompted. 

"Oh, sure, yes. But what I wanted to say was... hmm, there's no good way to put this." Strangely, Harry took a deep breath and held it for a moment, then seemed to decide he'd speak all in a rush as he exhaled. The resulting blurt of noise was a bit hard for Severus to understand. "MaybeitwouldbeagoodideaifIcametwicetonight?"

The moment Snape untangled the words, he inclined his head in agreement. "Certainly that's a sound notion. You can't really think I would object to that, can you? So then, why were you reluctant to mention it?"

Harry's pink flush deepened towards red. "Well, it's awfully greedy, isn't it? You put me in charge and practically the first thing I do is demand doubles?"

"In our particular circumstances I would say it's logical. As for greedy? I very much enjoy your pleasure, so don't let _doubles_ trouble you, Harry." Severus paused, then seeing that Harry appeared through with his meal, ventured, "Would you care for some dessert? No? Well then, some wine?"

Harry laughed, the sound of it slightly strained. "No, I don't think so, not if I'm going to try to.... well, you know."

 _Try to climax twice,_ Severus thought he probably meant. He waited, but Harry just sat across from him, avoiding his gaze, nibbling at the little flakes of fish that remained on his plate. 

_Enough was enough,_ Severus finally thought. "Perhaps we should begin, then? Shall I draw a bath for us?"

Harry looked at him, then. He seemed poised to speak, but seemed to be having trouble getting started. "Maybe dessert after all," he finally murmured, tapping the table. "Um, ice cream, three scoops. Oh, wait, banana split with three scoops."

Severus said nothing to the change of plans, but when, several minutes later, Harry had done very little with his dessert except trail his spoon through the melting ice cream, he cleared his throat. "I don't think you really want that."

A long sigh. "Yeah, well..." Harry took a bite then, as if determined to get through the confection after all, then suddenly shoved it away. "I guess I can't put it off forever. But the bath can wait a while. I think I'd rather start with something else, if that's all right."

"Whatever you wish."

"Except Exploding Snap, apparently." Harry dithered a bit longer before asking, "What about your questions game? I thought of us playing that again, only... I wanted us to switch places." 

Severus tried to picture himself sitting on Harry's lap instead of the other way around, but the image didn't work very well.

"You know, I get to be the one making up the rules," Harry clarified. "All right?" 

"Yes." Severus at once began considering what he'd like to ask Harry, only to be brought up short by the other man's voice. 

"First rule is, you don't get to ask any serious questions."

" _I_ don't get to ask any serious questions?"

"Yeah, but I do," said Harry, banishing his dishes. 

"And these one-sided rules would be equitable in your view, would they?"

"Sure, considering last time you had all day to figure out your questions and I only had two seconds."

Hmm, he hadn't realised Harry would see matters that way. "Agreed, though it might behove you to define your view of _serious_."

"Oh, but that's part of the game." Harry finished drinking the pumpkin juice Severus had ordered and sat back, his forehead furrowed. "If you cross the line... hmm, well I can't declare a penalty kiss, can I? That would only encourage rule-breaking."

"Perhaps," Severus suggested, "each time a question satisfies your criterion, a small reward might be in order?" He dropped his voice to a murmur. "And I don't mean chocolate frogs."

Harry flushed again, and visibly swallowed. "Um... that might work, but I get to decide what the reward should be."

"But of course. You're in charge."

"Um, well should move to the living room where we played before or..." Whatever Harry had been going to suggest was lost forever as he came to a decision. "Yeah, let's go to the couch."

Once they were there, Harry settled onto Severus' lap, holding himself a bit stiffly. Severus curled an arm around him and willed him to relax. One long, thorough kiss and Harry would be melting against him, he knew. But it was up to Harry to initiate, tonight. 

"You can go first since I got to make the rules."

A very Gryffindor sentiment, thought Severus as he began to contemplate his first question. Something light. Nothing serious. He wanted to see what Harry might offer as a reward, after all. "What has been your favourite subject during your seven years at Hogwarts?"

Harry smiled slightly. "Well, it wasn't Potions. And that's not much of a question. And it breaks the rule anyway. Too serious."

" _That's_ too serious?"

"Defence Against the Dark Arts is, yeah," said Harry with a hint of a smirk.

Oh, so _that_ was the game. Severus was going to try to earn rewards and Harry was going to try to avoid giving him any. 

"My turn..." Harry looked Severus up and down as he sat there with his hands folded in his own lap, even as he leaned against the other man's supporting arm. "Who cuts your hair? See, now that's an example of a non-serious question."

"I cut it."

"Looks a bit uneven." Harry seemed to hesitate, then said, "If you like, I could... uh, even it out for you a little later."

"If you like," Severus corrected.

Harry looked down at his own chest, his hands moving restlessly like they needed something to hold. "I like, yeah." 

Severus moved his head slightly so the sweep of his hair would brush against Harry's cheek, and smiled when Harry's shoulders trembled slightly at the contact. "So... my turn? Hmm. Non-serious. When you were in Muggle school, what was your favourite subject there?"

Harry looked up, his eyes darkening slightly. "I don't know. Maybe phys. ed. Oh, but I'm afraid you've broken another rule, Severus. You have to ask something you really want to know."

"You really wanted to know who cuts my hair?"

"No, but the rules only apply to you, since you're the one trying to earn my... uh, favour." Evidently more comfortable, Harry settled back a little against Severus' arm. "You'll just have to think harder. But you're good at that. I'm sure you can earn a reward before the night is through. Now, for my question. Those scars on your back... how old are they?"

"Old."

"That's not really an answer. I didn't ask if they were recent or not, I asked _how_ old _._ "

"It's all the answer you're going to get. Now, as I believe it's my turn to ask a question so I can listen to you make up some rule that didn't exist the moment before--"

"Wait," Harry interrupted, nibbling a little on his lower lip. "I really did want to know about the scars."

"One of the hallmarks of this game is that no-one is forced to disclose that which they would prefer to keep private," retorted Severus. He was trying to moderate his tone, but found that his next remark still emerged rather caustically. "Or has that changed as well under your rather one-sided governance of the _rules?_ "

"You're a fine one to complain!"

Severus merely glared.

"Oh, very well," sighed Harry. "I suppose I also ought to reward you for answering my own questions. I mean, when you give a full and complete answer. That would only be fair. And you _can_ still decline to answer, Severus. But I promise if you play along I'll... um, do what I was thinking of doing."

"Which would be?"

Harry's whole face reddened. "Well, it's not chocolate frogs. I... um, well, it's what I told you. I mean, it's what Hermione said."

"Enjoy me." Severus raised an eyebrow when Harry gave a jerky nod, looking much as if he was agreeing to attend his own execution. In fact, he looked so very reluctant that Severus frankly doubted the young man would follow through. But there was a way to know in advance if he would... "Well Harry, if you're changing the rules I certainly think it ought to be retroactive. Where's my boon for telling you my deep, dark haircutting secrets?"

"Oh, you are tricky," Harry murmured, clearly thinking the matter over. "Hmm, I suppose I could kiss you but..." He cleared his throat. "Um, well I've done lots of that, and I told myself I should try new things.... so, maybe this."

The young man reached for Severus' wrist and slowly unbuttoned the single button at his cuff, then rolled the fabric back to bare his skin. Harry's tanned fingers explored him there, tracing over his tendons, pressing into his skin, tugging a little at the short black hairs on his arm. His touch was tentative at first, but when Severus made no remark--or perhaps when he didn't laugh--it became a little more assured, even reaching upwards into Severus' sleeve to caress Severus' forearm. 

After a long moment, Harry moved his fingers back down and used them to lift Severus' hand to his mouth.

Severus' cock jumped when Harry began to kiss the tracery of veins beneath the flesh at his wrist. Actually, more than just his cocked jumped. His whole body went taut with anticipation.

And Harry sensed it.

He drew back after only an instant, his gaze uncertain. "Is that not all right to do?"

How could the young man be so innocent as to ask that? There was more going on here, Severus realised, than a simple lack of experience. "Anything you wish to do is all right," he said in a quiet voice. "That in particular was... invigorating."

Harry blinked, his blush deepening. "Oh, do you mean you're getting a little... uh..."

"Aroused? Yes." Severus considered matters for a moment. "Harry, why would you need to ask if that was all right? It was a very small liberty among lovers; do you realise that?"

"I... well, _yeah,_ but you aren't..."

"Your lover?"

"No, you are," Harry slowly admitted, his shoulders tensing. "I suppose you have been for a while and I just wasn't ready to see it."

"Then what were you trying to say, that I wasn't approachable?"

"Well you _aren't_ , actually." Harry rubbed his temples. "Or maybe it's just me who doesn't know how... anyway, what I was going to say was that you weren't a girl."

"Ah." Severus moved his hand and began to massage the taut tendons at the back of Harry's neck. Far more effective than temples if one had a headache. "Correct me if I'm mistaken, but I gather you'd feel fine kissing a girl's wrist, but with a man you have to verify that it's allowed?"

"Well, I think you want me to touch you; you made that sort of clear," Harry admitted, sighing. "But then you tensed up and I thought maybe it wasn't something men much did."

"But why do you concern yourself with what other men might do or not? Surely we have only ourselves to please?"

"I know that; I'm just a little nervous."

Severus smiled. "Back to the game then?"

"Yeah, you were going to tell me how old your scars were."

No, actually he hadn't been. But now that he knew what form Harry's rewards would take--his young man at last exploring _him_ \--Severus decided it would do no harm to disclose one slender shard of information. "I received them the summer after my fifth year at Hogwarts."

"Who..."

Well, perhaps two tiny shards. "My father."

"What made him angry enough to...?"

Needing some levity--it was either that or grow annoyed at Harry's persistence, Severus pointed out, "Ah, but that's several questions in a row. Surely I'm owed a penalty kiss?"

He expected the young man to say _that_ rule had changed as well, but Harry reached up and pulled Severus' head down so their lips could meet. A soft kiss, nothing in it of desire. Nothing sexual, either. It seemed to Severus that Harry was sorry about the scars and was in some bizarre way trying to kiss the memory better. That irritated him as he hardly needed to be coddled. 

"Your question," said Harry when they broke apart.

"What about my boon? I answered you fully and completely, did I not?"

"That kiss _was_ your boon. Now you ask your question so I can get back to mine."

Severus could see where all this was heading now. Harry was going to poke and pry his way into Severus' past until he knew the whole story behind those scars. Not if Severus could help it, though. He'd been willing to discuss his sexual history in detail--not that Harry had wanted to know--but this was another matter. It was nothing to do with what they would do together.

And it was something Severus had never discussed with anyone. Not even Albus.

His first instinct was to say something so cutting that Harry would drop the matter and never return to it. Something about Harry's own family would likely do the trick.

It would also, however, make the young man all the more nervous and upset, so Severus managed to keep his scathing remarks to himself. He put his mind to the problem instead and found a solution that would do admirably. A Slytherin solution. 

Severus stopped massaging Harry's neck and began unbuttoning the young man's shirt.

"Hey!" Harry practically yelped. "You said I was in charge!"

"Oh, but you are," soothed Severus as he methodically moved from one button to the next, working his way down. "This is part of my question."

" _Huh?_ "

By then though, Harry's muscular chest was bared to his gaze. Severus took Harry's right nipple between thumb and forefinger and gently rolled it, then repeated the process with his left. "Which would you say is more sensitive?"

Harry went about ten different shades of red at a question like that. "Um, I don't know--"

"I'll do it again, shall I?" Severus fondled each nipple in turn, lingering this time. He'd rather have nibbled them, his teeth teasing the flesh into hard little nubs, but that could wait.

After all, he had plenty of questions left.

"The... the left, I think," Harry murmured, his voice shaking. That was enough to tell Severus that both of Harry's nipples were enjoying the attention. Severus kept his hand wandering back and forth, caressing them, expecting any minute for Harry to call a halt, but Harry didn't. He looked away, breathing in sharply, his blush very much in evidence, and squirmed slightly atop Severus' lap. Now that was nice.

Perhaps Harry realised quite how much he was giving away with his involuntary movements, for he all at once went still, biting his lip. And then, he had the nerve to claim, "Well, that was pretty serious, so--"

Since Severus wanted his boon, he wasn't about to accept that. "Oh? How so?"

Harry blinked, and finally batted Severus' hand away. He started to do up his buttons, but Severus forestalled him. "I'll just have to undo them again for subsequent questions."

"No questions involving touching--" Harry suddenly stopped, and dropped his hands away from his open shirt front. His cheeks blazing with colour, he gave a little shake of his head as though he were lecturing himself about something. "Never mind. I... I guess it's all right. I keep thinking I shouldn't..."

"Shouldn't let me touch you?"

"I know we have to," Harry sighed, clearly torn. "But I keep thinking I shouldn't... um, like it. Or at least that I should pretend not to. But it's useless. I mean... I can't see the sense any longer in trying to be wretchedly unhappy. But I can't quite... let go."

"Perhaps more kissing," Severus suggested without any trace of humour. "That tends to be intense enough to leave less room for thought. I suspect you're over-thinking everything."

"Yeah, could be," murmured Harry, shrugging.

"Perhaps you could also explain why you termed my question serious."

Harry made a desperate noise. It sounded like frustration wrapped around resentment, yet coated with bitter resignation. "You're trying to decide where to put that awful nipple ring, aren't you? Seeing which side would be the least painful?"

Severus shook his head and noticed the way Harry's eyes tracked the sway of his hair. "No. I was simply exploring you _._ But you raise a valid point." He lightly pinched Harry's left nipple. "I'll put your mark here, I think."

"You _want_ it on the more sensitive side?" The colour in his cheeks ebbed away to leave his features pallid. "I thought you didn't like inflicting... oh, the invocation. You _have_ to inflict pain. But you know, I'm sure either side will hurt like holy hell."

"It will not hurt nearly as much as you imply. But in any case, you misunderstand me. Choosing this side... it's nothing to do with the requirements of the invocation. I'm merely aware that the nipple which is pierced may eventually become exquisitely sensitive to stimulation... something we can both enjoy, Harry."

Harry's mouth dropped open. "The mark you chose is a sex thing?"

Severus' lips curled, very slightly. "Harry, you're eighteen. You shouldn't be so shocked at the idea."

"I just never pegged _you_ as..."

"What, a normal man with all the attendant desires?"

Harry made a scoffing noise and muttered something. Severus couldn't catch the words, but they sounded foul.

"Would you prefer another sort of mark?"

"I thought you didn't have to take my preferences into account."

"I don't. I'd still like an answer," said Severus impatiently. 

"No. It's probably the best we can do." For all that though, Harry stiffened. "Let's just play the game. Your turn. No, wait, my turn I think. Um... your scars, then. Why did your father do that to you?"

Severus scowled. He'd been counting on Harry being more distracted by now. "He didn't say."

With an air of determination, Harry reached around behind him and brought Severus' hand around to the front so he could toy with the button on that cuff. "Don't you want another um... boon? You can do better than that."

Now _that_ was Slytherin. "He was displeased I planned to return to Hogwarts after I'd completed my O.W.L.s," Severus grudgingly admitted. "And I shall expect a rather large boon for saying so. Well?"

Harry unbuttoned Severus' cuff and rolled up his sleeve, wincing just a little as this time, the bottom edge of the Dark Mark came into view. But he didn't flinch from kissing this wrist as he had the other. In fact, he kissed it more thoroughly, and not as though to heal some hurt that should have healed long, long ago. He was back to exploring, Severus sensed.

And this time, he did it with less hesitation, less worry. That was nice, even if Severus was still annoyed at Harry's persistence about those scars. He became marginally less annoyed, however, as the kiss went on. Harry was taking his time, laving each square inch of skin, his tongue caressing Severus' wrist in a way that was frankly erotic.

Maybe Harry had finally found a way to _let go_ , as he'd put it. Severus felt shivers coursing up and down his spine, felt his cock filling and his balls tensing when Harry's open mouth trailed upwards and moved from wrist to forearm.

He stopped before he got to the Mark, though, and sat up straighter, holding himself a bit oddly since this time he didn't have Severus' arm to lean upon. "Your turn," Harry said, his voice husky. 

Well, if nipple play hadn't been enough to turn Harry's mind away from Severus' ugly family history, perhaps this would. Severus took up Harry's hand, then, and lightly suckled on a finger, though he was careful not to choose the one with the recently re-grown nail. He teased the underside of it, then drew it deeply into his mouth and stretched out his tongue to swipe it against Harry's palm. 

Harry made a sort of keening noise, his breath catching and then speeding up.

Smiling, Severus opened his mouth and pulled Harry's finger out of it, a bit amused when he had to tug a tiny bit. He held onto the young man's hand and lowered his voice to ask his question. "How much does that make your cock pulse, Harry?"

"A... a bit," Harry gasped.

Severus' smile grew wider. "Surely I'm entitled to a full and complete answer, hmm?"

"A lot, then. I... It makes me think of..." Harry abruptly fell silent and began shaking his head in a rather violent motion as he blushed the deepest red that Severus had yet seen. 

"It makes you think about my mouth on your cock? You wouldn't be normal if it didn't make you long for that, you know." Severus licked Harry's finger again, one long slow swipe from knuckle to nail, then drew the tip in and teased it mercilessly while Harry squirmed on his lap. It was almost a shame, Severus thought, that he had to stop to resume speaking. "Would you like that, Harry? My mouth, on your cock, all the way down to here?" Severus rubbed thumb and forefinger against Harry's lowest knuckle.

Harry tried to pull his hand away. Severus almost held tight to it, but then he remembered his resolve to let Harry lead. Still, he couldn't resist one last verbal prompting. "All you have to do is ask."

The young man on his lap closed his eyes so tightly that the skin around them crinkled. "I couldn't... not something like that."

The tense veneer over the words told Severus more than the words themselves. Harry couldn't ask because he couldn't imagine ever doing such a thing himself. To him it seemed something burdensome--or possibly distasteful--for the man who was providing the pleasure. 

But then again, Harry seemed to view most lovemaking as a rather one-sided proposition. Or at least, lovemaking with Severus. 

Severus reached a hand behind Harry's head and sifted short black hair through his fingers as his thumb massaged Harry's nape. "I would very much enjoy taking you in my mouth," Severus said, watching as Harry's eyes opened, the expression in them wary. Or disbelieving, perhaps. "You _can_ ask for that, Harry."

"Um... I'll keep it in mind," the young man gasped. "My turn, my question, um..." He didn't ask one though. Probably that had something to do with the fact that Severus was once more sucking on his finger, this time setting up a rhythm no man could fail to recognise. _In, out, in, out, in, out..._

And Harry wasn't making any effort to pull away, not this time.

"Maybe you'd better stop that," Harry finally managed to weakly assert. "I... oh, God, that's good. But you have to stop. I mean it. I'm getting sort of..."

Severus did stop it then, so he could lean down to speak against Harry's lips. "Aroused?"

" _Close._ "

Severus softly chuckled. "Ah, to be eighteen again. But I believe you had a question?" 

"I... I can't think of any."

"Pity. I rather liked your boons."

Harry gestured toward the buttons the held Severus' shirt closed. "Um, well maybe I could just..." He looked up as though for approval, but didn't wait for it. His fingers were already working the top button loose. When the fabric parted to reveal a bare swath of pale neck, Harry seemed to swallow. 

Reluctance? Severus wasn't sure. It might still be nervousness.

Whatever it was, Harry was making his way through it, his fingers touching Severus now, stroking underneath the fabric to explore a collarbone, then moving back to lightly touch Severus' Adam's apple. "Say something," Harry whispered. 

"I want to undress you," Severus thickly murmured.

Harry groaned, the sound low and intense as he rubbed his fingers against Severus' throat. "I remember this now. Your _voice._ When I was on the Dragon's Happy, your voice seemed to reach right down into my bones."

"And now?"

"It's still... awfully good."

"Shall I keep talking?"

" _Yes_ ," said Harry, though he moved his fingers away. That was all right, though, since he was working his way down to another button, and then another.

"I want to undress you," Severus groaned, then realised he'd just said that. Oh well, it didn't seem like Harry was up to noticing. The young man had Severus' shirt half unbuttoned by then and had gone back to his explorations, his hands smoothing over muscles, his fingers lingering slightly on the scars that marred Severus' chest. 

He pulled back, then. "I'm sorry about your father, Severus."

Severus waved a hand to say it didn't matter. Because it didn't. He wanted Harry to keep touching him, keep exploring him inch by inch. He'd wanted this for forever, it seemed, and he'd thought he'd got it, those times he'd ordered Harry to undress him.

But those were almost nothing, he realised. Now that he knew what it could be to have his young man _want_ to peel back fabric from skin...

Only Harry didn't want it any longer. _He_ wanted to talk. And about what? 

Severus' father!

"I know what it's like to live with people who... aren't nice to you," Harry murmured, a sympathetic smile on his lips.

Severus didn't want sympathy; he wanted what he'd had the moment before!

"I didn't live with him, not then," he snapped, arms at his side to keep from forcibly yanking Harry up against him and kissing him until the young man had no room left for these inane questions.

"No, I know, you were at Hogwarts most of the year like me--"

Sweet Merlin, they were _never_ going to get back to what mattered, Severus sensed, not until he satisfied Harry's curiosity. "I didn't live with my father," he grated, all the more irritated as the memories seemed to crawl inside his cock and extinguish every hint of arousal. "My mother left him when I was quite young and I didn't see him again, save for brief visits, until the summer I told you about."

"But why would he be angry that you were going back to Hogwarts?"

It was all Severus could do not to shout at Harry, then. Couldn't the young man take a hint, for Merlin's sake? "I think it's time we ended the game," he announced, shifting Harry off his lap so they could both stand up.

Stepping forward, Harry placed both his palms on Severus' bare chest. "I'll give you another reward."

"No."

"I'll do something even nicer--"

 _You'll do what I want, when I want, how I want._ The thought sailed unbidden into Severus' mind, riding a crest of anger. _You're mine, all mine..._

The dark allure of _Podentes_ seemed to glitter before him for a long moment, but then he put his mental training to work and shoved it away. It was either that or shove Harry down to the floor beneath him and kiss him senseless, kiss these idiot questions right out of his head, kiss him until Harry was more than _close_ , until he clutched at Severus and opened his mouth wide and _screamed_ his pleasure...

The appeal was undeniable, but the rational part of his mind knew that it really would be better to move all such activities into the bath. _And_ to continue letting Harry lead, though certain parts of him--notably his cock--would rather take the young man hard and fast and furious.

Though that would ruin more than the bath, he glumly supposed.

It was with a gruff voice that he managed to answer. "It was all very _nice_ , Harry, but no."

"I thought I was in charge," complained Harry, still pushing, still oblivious to the fact that if he wasn't careful, he might push Severus right into that dark, glittering place where dominance seemed natural and right and _rightfully his._

Severus raised his voice even as he clenched his fists. "You aren't in charge of this," he menaced, his tone one Harry had heard many times before during detentions. "And that's an end to that matter, do I make myself clear?"

Harry took a step back, his throat working as he swallowed. "Right. I... You don't want to talk about it, obviously--"

"Obviously," drawled Severus, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kept on." Harry nodded slightly, his features strained as he pulled the gaping edges of his shirt together, though he made no move to do up the buttons. 

_Time to move past it,_ Severus told himself. He'd much rather have kept up the scathing commentary, ripping apart everything Harry said, twisting his words until the young man was a good deal sorrier, but he recognised the impulse as a destructive one. And worse, as immature. He ought to be able to contain his anger, especially as Harry's mistake hadn't been born of malice.

Again drawing deeply on his mental discipline--what little of it remained, at any rate--Severus stepped forward and laid a finger against the young man's lips. " _Shouldn't haves_ don't help us either, I would think."

Harry gave another little nod, his expression still a bit wary. That was little wonder. He knew Severus well enough to wonder if he could trust that last comment. Because when had Severus ever been angry with him and _not_ launched into a diatribe?

"Now, what would you like to do next?" asked Severus, trying for a tone that would help Harry forget about their argument. Though if he wanted to get Harry's mind off it, perhaps... "Even out my haircut?"

Harry reached for Severus' hair and ran his fingers through it from scalp to ends. "Bath first," he answered. "You know, the water last time was sort of distracting. I don't know why I can't just do the three times on a bed or something."

"Water Magic."

Nodding, Harry dropped Severus' hair and walked toward the bedroom. 

Severus waited, thinking he'd do as he had before, and go in only after Harry had got into the water, no doubt under a thick layer of bubbles. 

But Harry had apparently been listening when Severus had said he wanted to undress him. He turned back at the bedroom door, green eyes sombre, and beckoned for the other man to join him.


	34. Chapter 34

 

 

  
  
  
  


** Monday, June 8, 1998 ---- 8:39 p.m. **

When Severus entered, Harry was standing by the edge of the empty tub, his wand waving. Water began pouring from the tap just before an entire row of ferns disappeared, and then, Harry set his wand aside on a bench and walked over to stand facing Severus.

"So, I'll just finish?" he said, gesturing at the Potions Master's half-unbuttoned shirt.

Severus nodded, closing his eyes as he felt Harry's fingers brushing against his skin. His young man undressing him wasn't quite the potent sexual thrill it had been before their argument, but it was certainly something to savour.

 _More_ than savour, Severus realised a few seconds later, for as soon as Harry dropped Severus' shirt to the floor, he moved to stand quite close and laid his lips against a particularly vicious scar that marred Severus' pectoral muscle. 

This wasn't an attempt to kiss it better, Severus realised at once. It was an exploration, reminiscent of the way Harry had kissed his wrists and arms, earlier. And it was done without apparent hesitation. Severus wasn't sure if the young man was getting better at hiding his nervousness, or if he'd finally managed to let go of whatever had been holding him back.

A low lick of fire curled in Severus' belly and spread downward into his cock as Harry trailed his lips from the scar across to the other side of Severus' chest, where the skin was smooth and taut. The young man softly moaned, the rush of breath hot against Severus' skin.

"You see how good it can be to give pleasure, Harry?" asked Severus, the words barely audible over the sound of water falling into the sunken tub. "You see why I love touching you?"

"Mmm," murmured Harry as he reached up on tiptoe to lick at Severus' sculpted collarbone. Then he stopped. "Are you enjoying it, though? I don't know if I'm doing it right."

"If _you_ are enjoying it then you're doing it right," Severus assured him. "But should you wish to... _ah_ , verify the matter, there is a simple way."

It took Harry a moment, Severus thought, to catch his meaning. "Oh," he said, biting his own lip hard. "You want me to touch you... um, _there?_ "

"Tonight is actually about what you want, though I would certainly like that, yes."

Harry nodded, though he quickly checked, "Tonight? I thought you said--"

"Until the invocation, _yes._ I won't go back on that."

"Oh, good." The young man smiled then, though he looked as though he didn't know what to do, or perhaps as though he didn't know what to want. Leaning forward again, Harry went back to kissing Severus' chest. This time he brought his hands up and rested them on Severus' bare shoulders. Harry must have found the position awkward because after a minute he stepped closer so that they were almost embracing as Harry kissed him.

Or rather, as Harry _enjoyed_ him, because by now he had moved his mouth to cover Severus' left nipple, his arms tightening around Severus as he carefully nibbled at it. Yes, _enjoyment_ , that was it. There wasn't any shy pretence this time that they were playing a game, or that Harry owed Severus a boon. The only thing between them now was honest desire. Shot through with inexperience, certainly, but desire all the same.

No sooner had Severus thought that than he felt Harry's hands moving down, down, down, all the way to the waistband of Severus' trousers. His fingers lingered there, but if Harry had planned to undress Severus further, he lost his nerve.

"Your turn," he said, stepping back so that Severus had enough room to remove Harry's shirt as well. 

Once that was seen to, Harry made a vague gesture that literally could have meant anything, but his words made it clear. "Um, I thought we could er... keep undressing each other, you know, all the way? But I can't, not yet. I know it's stupid of me since we were were, uh, both about as naked as one can get in bed last time, but--"

"No, it's not stupid at all," Severus softly interrupted. "Whatever you prefer is fine, Harry."

Harry, however, seemed to be having quite a time stating his preferences. Or alluding to them, even.

Severus kept his voice offhand. "If I might make a suggestion?"

Harry looked a bit nervous about what it might be, Severus thought, but he nodded. 

"Disrobing in the same room, watching one another... that might make for a good transitional step."

"I..." Another nod, that one a good deal less self-assured, but it _was_ agreement, so Severus began taking off his trousers.

Harry stood there transfixed, like a thief caught in wand light, his eyes wide as Severus unfastened the buttons that held his placket together. "Um, no zip?"

Severus shuddered at the mere idea. "I can't understand why a man would wish to risk catching himself between two sharp rows of metal teeth."

Surprisingly, the remark seemed to break the tension. Harry grinned, though he looked back up at Severus' face instead of at what he was baring. "Well you know, there is such a thing as underwear."

"Yes, and silk snags far too easily." 

_That_ had the young man glancing down again. By that time Snape had taken off shoes and socks and was stepping out of his trousers and kicking them to the side. His underwear were black silk, just as he'd said that day in Norway. Black boxers cut to be just a little bit more form-hugging than the standard variety. That was what you got from having them properly tailored to fit.

Harry smiled slightly, and that despite the fact that Severus was half hard and the shorts didn't do a lot to obscure it. A good sign, Severus thought. "Something amuses you?"

"Yeah, that there's a whole drawer of _those_ for me somewhere," Harry said. "I... I don't think they're my style. I like my comfy cotton Y-fronts."

"As you wish."

"Where _is_ all that stuff you bought, anyway?" Harry asked, but he didn't press Severus for an answer, because by then, Severus was sliding his shorts down over the bulge of his cock and kicking them in the direction of his trousers. "Oh."

"You _have_ seen me before," Severus reminded him. 

"Yeah, yeah. Of course," said Harry, looking a bit as though he were trying to be mature and failing. "It's just... still a shock. I think you were uh... not quite accurate when you said you were in the normal range of... uh, you know, size."

"Well, I will admit to being on the high end of the normal range." Severus looked closely at his young man, who was still standing there bare-chested but wearing his jeans and trainers. He felt somewhat at a disadvantage being the first one to bare all. It gave him some empathy for how Harry might have felt night after night, though on another level he realised that Harry hadn't exactly been eager for both of them to disrobe. Just as he wasn't eager for Severus to take him...

"Are you still worried that I'll injure you with this?" Severus asked, stroking the back of his hand down the length of his own cock. 

"Um..." Harry blushed a bright red, though he couldn't seem to take his eyes off Severus' cock, which had reacted quite predictably to the light caress. "Oh, God."

 _No, just me,_ Severus thought of replying, but he crushed the impulse. 

"I... you asked me something..." Harry sounded positively dazed. That was nice. "Oh, yeah, injury. Um, well actually I'm presuming you have... er, done that to men before."

"Yes, of course. And as I mentioned before, I haven't injured anyone yet, which should tell you everything will be fine."

"Yeah, well it _should,_ " Harry slowly admitted, gaze still glued to the part of Severus' he was most concerned about, "but I just wanted to check something. Have you ever slept with anybody my size?"

Actually, Severus' typical bed-partner was more his own height than Harry's, but he really thought that this was an instance where it was best to not tell the whole truth. Because really, all Harry wanted to know was if he was too small to safely take Severus into his body. And of course he wasn't, as long as Severus took care. 

"Certainly," he answered without hesitation.

"That's sort of...." Harry frowned, but shook off whatever he had been going to say. "Well, if you didn't injure any of them..."

Severus thought better than to explain that _hurting_ was a world apart from _injuring,_ or that pain could be erotic when it was carefully controlled. Harry hadn't reacted so well the last time Severus had alluded to such matters, but that was no great wonder. It was the kind of thing Harry would have to learn for himself. 

Harry blew out a breath. "All right, then. If you want the honest truth then yeah, I'm still worried, but I don't feel nearly as paralyzed about it as I used to, though I'm still... uh, not exactly looking forward to uh, having to lie back and think of Vol... the Dark Lord."

"Excuse me?" Severus was positive he couldn't have heard that right. He didn't believe for an instant that Harry harboured sexual fantasies about the Dark Lord. His cock deflated at the mere thought. 

The young man flushed crimson. "It's a saying. Muggle saying, so never mind." When Severus just arched an eyebrow and waited, however, Harry mumbled, "It's about not wanting to just lie there and _take_ it, all right?"

"You aren't going to _lie there and take it,_ " Severus at once corrected, narrowing his eyes. "You're going to want everything we do, and you're going to enjoy it every bit as much as I will, I _promise._ " Severus' cock sprung right back to life as he began fantasising Harry in a variety of positions, panting, _begging_ for more...

Harry flushed. "Enjoy it? Look... I like it when you touch me and the frottage was good, too, but those both make sense, if you think about it. I can't see why anybody would enjoyhaving a huge, enormous... _thing_ shoved up their backside."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I think a few minutes of stretching play would show you exactly why. Have you thought about that?" He tried not to let his disappointment show when he continued, "You didn't ask for it on Saturday."

"Well, finding out you'd been... uh, so attracted to me all along sort of gave me pause. But... I have thought about it more since then."

"Any conclusions?"

"Um, no, but Hermione thought I should try it. I mean, she was pretty sure you must know what you were doing..."

It was on the tip of Severus' tongue to tell Harry not to discuss their sex life with Miss Granger, but he couldn't quite bring himself to say it. Harry quite obviously needed someone to talk to. Hmm, maybe later, when Harry was comfortable talking to _him_ , Severus could explain how ill-at-ease he felt having a third person constantly brought into their intimate conversations.

"Would you feel better about disrobing in front of me if I got into the bath?" suggested Severus, since Harry was still just staring at him, making no move to take off his own clothes. "Which incidentally is about to overflow?"

"What? Oh, bugger all--" Harry snatched up his wand and shut off the flowing water, then carelessly dropped his wand back down onto the bench. Severus almost winced to see a fine wand treated that way. "Yeah, um good idea, thanks. You go ahead and get in and--"

Harry must have undressed in record time, Severus thought. His back had only been turned for the few seconds it took to descend the stairs into the warm, still water--bubbleless, this evening--but when he turned around to face Harry, the young man was already down to his Y-fronts. 

"You're too quick," Harry complained, which made Severus repress a smile.

"Shall I close my eyes?" he lightly teased. "Would that help?"

" _No_ ," Harry said, looking much as if he longed to stick out his tongue. He stood there with his hands hanging down rather than trying to cover himself, blushing all the way down to his navel. "I don't know why it seems like a big deal. I mean, it _is_ just skin and you've seen it all before anyway. I guess maybe..." He'd been meeting Severus' eyes but now he looked away. "I guess I do expect you to laugh. I mean, I know you _won't_ , but..."

Severus made his way to the edge of the sunken tub and stood against the wall, his fingers beckoning Harry closer. 

Harry came and sat at the edge of the small pool, sticking his feet and calves down into the water right alongside Severus.

"I'm gratified you know I won't laugh," murmured Severus. "I love looking at you. I think you know that now, which is good. But I don't understand what you ever thought was laughable."

"Oh, well once I saw _you..._ " Harry swung his legs back and forth, raising ripples of water. 

Ah, so they were back to size again, though in a vastly different context. It seemed to Severus that Harry must feel his own endowments were inadequate in comparison. Of course he was entirely mistaken about that, but the sentiment itself was rather interesting. Harry wanted to be found attractive...

By Severus.

He _had_ accepted that they were lovers, Severus suddenly realised. The knowledge sent a jolt straight down into his groin. 

"Your eyes truly are the most amazing colour I have ever seen," Severus suddenly said, and Harry frowned.

"No, don't change the subject--"

"But I'm not. Bear with me, Harry. Now, my own eyes are rather a dull colour in comparison. How interesting can black be? It's all one shade, not hued with a myriad of tones like _your_ eyes. Shall I spend my time worrying about the fact that your eyes are so much more beautiful than mine that I can't possibly measure up?"

Harry's eyes had narrowed. "No."

"Why not?"

"I know what you're doing, Severus--"

"No doubt," said the Potions Master dryly. "I said you were of perfectly normal intelligence. But I'd still like to finish. So tell me, if you would, why I shouldn't be ashamed to have you look into my plain black eyes."

Harry kicked the water again, more violently than before. "Because everybody's different and green eyes in every face would just get boring, not that I think my eyes are all that remarkable. But also because black's a nice colour too, once you get past the... uh, sinister associations. And just because they're black doesn't make your eyes plain, by the way. And none of this applies to the other thing we were discussing."

"Oh, but I think it does. Everybody's different, as you said. Which is actually quite fortunate as tastes differ as well. Now, I may be larger than most men--"

"Ha, I _knew_ you weren't in the normal range!" cried Harry.

"It depends how one defines _normal_. I don't suffer from a deformity, you understand. Or an engorgement curse. And many, many men are just the same as I. Now, as I was saying, I may be a bit on the large side but for you to start comparing us is like me lamenting my black eyes. I like you very, very well just the way you are."

Harry seemed to shrink away ever so slightly. "Yeah but how can you when you're walking around with _that_ in your pants?"

"Because you're exquisite, your cock just the same as all the rest of you," Severus explained, laying a hand on Harry's thigh. "Really, you absolutely are, Harry. You are proportioned perfectly for _you_. Harry....? Look at me, please."

Perhaps it was the _please_ that did it; Harry's astonished gaze snapped to his at once. 

"I don't want to hear you disparage yourself, ever again. It makes as much sense as my thinking we should all have green eyes." Severus smiled and lifted his hand from Harry's bare thigh. "Though I quite like that _you_ do. Now, if that's all cleared up perhaps you could join me before the water grows cold?"

Severus didn't really know for certain that Harry was feeling better until he heard the young man laugh at that. "Your bath delivers water charmed to stay warm, and you know it."

"Well, yes, but I thought it was worth a try," said Severus.

Harry laughed again, though the second time it was strained. That was easy to understand, since in the next moment he was scooting backwards on the floor to get his legs out of the water, then shimmying off his Y-fronts. He held them balled up in one fist as he sat motionless, legs extended, and let Severus look his fill. 

Severus would have admired the bravery inherent in that, but he was too busy admiring the young man's cock. Smaller than Severus', yes, it was still a nice healthy size and proportioned just right for Harry's shorter frame. The shade of a ripe peach, it leaned slightly to the left, though that was perhaps simply due to position. It looked... well, delicious, all the more so considering what it was doing. Liking the attention Severus was paying it, Harry's cock was lengthening before his eyes, until it was half-hard with a smooth pink tip poking out from its covering of foreskin. 

Severus felt his mouth water at the sight. 

His own cock sprang fully to life, and positioned as he was up against a wall of the tub, Severus couldn't help but grind his hips a couple of times to provide a little friction.

Harry noticed the movement, he thought, but didn't remark upon it. 

"So, I guess I'll just get in," he said, a redundant comment if Severus had ever heard one. It told him that the young man was nervous and trying to pretend otherwise. Which was fine, he supposed.

Harry scooted to the edge of the sunken tub again, this time with his buttocks almost touching the water. The movement put the young man's cock where Severus could swoop his mouth straight down on it. _Tempting..._ Harry didn't stay in that position for long, though. He slid into the water as quickly as he could, then turned around to face the wall, standing right alongside Severus. 

"Well, any ideas?" prompted Severus when it seemed none would be forthcoming. "You are in charge, don't forget."

"I haven't," said Harry rather bluntly. "But you seem to have pretty good ideas, I think. I mean... watching each other undress, that worked out pretty well. So um, maybe we should do what you said before, you know, about kissing being intense enough that I might stop over-thinking everything?"

Severus moved behind Harry, the water splashing up around his ribs. Pressing his torso and thighs--and cock--up against Harry, he leaned down and kissed his young man deeply along the top of his shoulder and side of his neck.

Harry gasped, tilting his neck to the side to allow better access, though he said in a soft, keening voice, "I meant regular kissing, Severus--"

"Ah, well I shall endeavour to be more mediocre," whispered Severus against his ear just before nibbling on the lobe.

To his intense enjoyment, Harry chuckled. It was good that they could tease one another, he thought. Though actually he couldn't quite recall any instance of Harry teasing him. Hmm, perhaps the earlier remarks about Exploding Snap could be taken in that light. _Yes, good,_ Severus thought, a feeling of warmth pooling in his belly, the sensation this time travelling down through his cock in lazy waves instead of one sharp jolt.

"I think you know you aren't mediocre at this," Harry moaned. "But you're leading, aren't you, and that's not right."

"On the contrary, you expressed an interest in kissing and I am doing my best to oblige," corrected Severus. 

"Kissing on the mouth," corrected Harry right back, though Severus thought that for someone so set on complaining he certainly wasn't doing much to correct the situation he was complaining _about._

"Well, if we must..."

"We must," said Harry, finally taking the hint and the initiative both. He spun around in the water so quickly that Severus lost his balance. As his feet slid out from under him, his head went completely under the water. 

Severus came up sputtering, feeling like nothing so much as a drowned rat. _Wet_ , he'd always thought, wasn't his best look. It didn't help that when he got to his feet and slicked his sopping hair back from his forehead, Harry was laughing. 

"Afraid I'd laugh at _you,_ were you?" he growled, reaching for his young man.

Harry went into his arms without protest and leaned his cheek against Severus' bare chest as he kept laughing. 

"Serve you right if I drench you as well," Severus grumbled.

Harry reached up and pulled Severus' mouth down to his, and began kissing him rather thoroughly. All in all, Severus decided, it was one of the more pleasant ways to be told to shut up.

Of course Harry willingly kissing him had a rather predictable effect, and facing Harry as he was, there wasn't much he could do to conceal that effect. His cock reared up taut and hungry, his hips involuntarily thrusting for something to grind against. 

Harry gasped at the sudden attention being paid to his abdomen. Being shorter than Severus, the two of them standing was not a good position for frottage. 

Not that frottage was a real option in any case. Severus abruptly forced himself to stop moving, though he kept on kissing Harry for quite some time.

"I..." Harry leaned his forehead against Severus' chest, which meant he had to be looking straight down through the clear water, straight at Severus' needy cock. "I... why'd you stop? I didn't... um, mind that."

No, Severus could see that he didn't, being as Harry's own cock was... well, not _needy,_ but certainly not uninterested in the goings-on.

"I think if we're going to practise for the invocation then we should keep the requirements in mind," Severus said, more than a tinge of regret in his voice. 

"Well what requirements are there except the three times?"

"I'm not allowed to climax."

"Oh right, you said your potion would inhibit that," Harry remembered out loud.

As far as Severus could tell, Harry was still staring straight down at him. That was very welcome, but in the circumstances more than a little bit distracting. He slipped a finger beneath the young man's chin and urged his face up. "The bath is just for you."

Harry nodded. Severus wasn't sure if it was his imagination, but to him the gesture looked more disappointed than relieved. "All right, but... um, how long will that potion last? Are you not allowed to er, climax at all the whole night?"

"Not at all."

Harry took a moment to consider that. "So then maybe that frottage thing on Saturday was a big mistake?"

"Bite your tongue!" said Severus, only half in jest, though Harry smiled. "It wasn't a mistake at all, because of course the other matter to keep in mind is that the rite itself is for lovers. The more we can regard one another as that, the better."

"You just want some later," Harry accused, poking his finger into Severus' chest. 

"No, I--"

"You _don't_ want some later?"

"Yes, but I--"

"Severus, relax," Harry said softly. "I'm just kidding around with you, you know."

"Yes, I knew that," Severus said, a bit stiffly, though he could tell Harry didn't believe him. Well, no matter. As long as he got some, that was. He had to admit it was looking quite likely; Harry was more at ease than Severus had ever seen. 

In fact he was so much at ease that he didn't even blush when he asked, "Why do you think that is? Why make the supplicant come three times and then not let the master wizard even come once?"

Severus moved to the opposite side of the tub, wiping again at his wet face as he sat down on a wide, submerged bench. Once Harry had settled in beside him, he admitted, "I've wondered that myself."

"Any conclusions?"

Now it was Severus' turn to flush slightly, something that didn't happen often at all. He couldn't help it, though; he was actually ashamed of his original attitude toward _Podentes_. "I used to think it was symbolic... forcing the supplicant to bathe in his own submission. Now I can see that it represents something else entirely." Reaching out for Harry's hand, he laced their fingers together. "You're going to be entirely dependent on me after the invocation. These rituals... they're designed to symbolise both how I must satisfy your needs and how you must trust that you will prosper under your lover's care."

Harry's fingers moved restlessly against his. "I don't get it. What does that have to do with me coming three times?"

Severus was a little surprised he'd have to explain. "The bath is an enactment of my meeting your sexual needs, Harry. Contrary to your concern that I will never think of your pleasure, the invocation itself prefigures a relationship in which I will put your needs before my own."

"That's a pretty wild interpretation, don't you think?" Harry asked doubtfully. "Seeing as I'm the one going to be the slave? Why would you put my needs before your own?"

"Because you're my lover too," said Severus seriously. "And besides that, because our powers won't cross unless we find a way to live and act in concert."

Harry's hand clenched as though he was afraid. "I thought that making our powers cross was my responsibility alone."

"I know the précis implied..." Severus started over. "I know the précis _said_ that, but I rather doubt it now. _Podentes_ is more about mutual compatibility than anything else."

Harry didn't look convinced, but he nodded. "What other parts of the invocation are about you meeting my needs?"

"The ritual meal, most definitely." Severus turned slightly on the bench to face Harry. "You don't think so?"

"I don't know anything about it, except you said it had... uh, specific rituals of its own, something like that."

"Ah. Well, you're not allowed to eat except from my hand."

Harry jerked slightly. "You have to _feed_ me? I thought I'd probably have to serve everyone!"

"Almost certainly not practical, considering you'll still be bound. It's possible you won't be able to feed yourself, in fact. Regardless, you aren't allowed to."

"And you don't think what that underlines is that I've no right to eat except if you deign to let me?"

"No, I think it's designed to show _me_ how vital it is that I keep your needs in mind."

"What about the sleeping all night in your arms?"

"That my responsibility to you is endless."

Harry shook his head. "Ha, it strikes me more as a way of stressing that my _slavery_ is endless. That I can't get away from you, not even for an instant. That I'm just _stuck_ and have to get used to it."

Severus frowned. "No, no. I have to hold you all night because as my lover you're something to be cherished."

"Severus," said Harry, frowning just as much now, "I'm going to be tied _up_. You said it yourself before. I'm going to be available to anything you want, and I won't be able to do a thing to defend myself. That's not exactly... _cherishing_ , is it now?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I'll be bound in the bath, too, helpless as you make me come over and over."

"It all goes back to trust. It's my role to meet your needs, and yours to believe that I'll do it."

"Including my need not to drown, I suppose," muttered Harry. "What about me not being allowed to so much as _talk_ while the witnesses are present? Now that's _got_ to symbolise submission, I think. Public submission, even."

"I think it's a cautionary note for the master wizard. You may not always be able to articulate; if you are ill, or delirious, or simply unsure of what you require... I must in all circumstances be prepared to care for you and meet your needs."

"I believe you will," said Harry, blushing. "Even my, er, sexual needs. I'm sorry I assumed earlier you were going to... uh, think only of yourself." He moved atop Severus' lap, then, and lopped his arms around the other man's neck. "You know, the water doesn't seem so distracting tonight."

With that, he was stretching his neck up a bit, and kissing Severus deep and long. 

Their long talk about the meaning inherent in the invocation rites had cooled Severus' ardour, but Harry's kiss brought it back in force. His cock twitched, then pulsed to its full, thick length, pressing upward into the muscular curve of Harry's bare arse. Harry broke off the kiss to gasp, though it didn't sound like an objection.

"Maybe you could... um, get started? You know, touching me?"

Severus put a hand on Harry's cock, his fingers moving very lightly to toy with the young man's foreskin. "Like this?"

Harry leaned his head on Severus' shoulder and kissed his neck. "Mmm...."

"Or perhaps like this," murmured Severus as he began to gently roll the foreskin first one way and then the other. It wasn't long before Harry was hard and throbbing in Severus' hand. "I would say you quite like this, yes."

Severus began to slide his hand back and forth along Harry's slightly ridged shaft, pleased when Harry nipped his earlobe, raising gooseflesh down Severus' spine, then began kissing Severus' shoulder and neck in earnest. "Mmm," he moaned again, clearly lost in sensation.

Harry's hands smoothed down Severus' rib cage, then moved around the other man's back to embrace him. His kisses became more frantic, his hips thrusting in a way that made Severus realise it would be no simple feat to avoid his own climax, especially not in this position, where Harry's every movement reverberated down into his own cock.

 _Especially_ not with his cock thrusting up against those wonderfully muscular buttocks.

Well, at least at the invocation he'd have his potion to help him. A good thing, he'd decided, but he still thought it was sound practise to make the bath be for Harry alone. There would be plenty of time after the invocation, after all, for them to both enjoy the water. For tonight, though, it might be wise to change position...

Before Severus could, however, Harry was throwing his head back and moaning out loud, inarticulate sounds of pleasure, satisfaction, and fulfilment. Harry's cock, still held firmly in Severus' hand, throbbed in time to the sounds. 

Severus tried to catch Harry's semen as it pulsed forth, but of course it was impossible underwater. A real shame, Severus thought, though of course for the Water Magic inherent in the ritual bath, it was necessary. 

Harry nearly slid off Severus' lap when his climax waned. His limp arms fell to the water with a splash, but before he slid off completely Severus caught him and drew him close for a long kiss. Mouth to mouth, that time. He realised too late that he was taking charge, and began to end the kiss, but Harry clutched him and opened his mouth wide, taking over the kiss as he took charge, himself.

"That was brilliant," Harry groaned when at last they broke apart. "I've been meaning to ask for a while how come it feels so much _better_ when you touch me than when I... you know, play with myself?"

"It's always that way with an attentive partner." Severus smiled and pushed his hair off his face again. "You probably can't tickle yourself, either. It has to do with knowing what to expect, or not." 

Moving off his lap, Harry made his way over to another wall and reached over the barrier of ferns for a bar of soap. Severus expected him to wash rather perfunctorily and leave the bath, but what Harry did was return to lather up Severus' chest, massaging the suds into his muscles, reaching under the water to do his abdomen as well. Then up and down his arms, and around his sides. 

Severus swivelled on the bench when Harry's hands urged it, and let the young man wash his back as well. 

"Your turn," Harry said, handing him the soap. He stood still as Severus rose to his feet and washed him, though he trembled slightly when Severus' attentions went beyond chest and back. Harry's cock ended up well washed, and his arse, and everything in between, right down to the sensitive area behind his balls. 

When Severus finished, Harry was flushing red. "I didn't wash you _there_ ," he said.

"No matter," answered Severus, beginning to do it himself. 

"No," said Harry, holding a palm out. "I want to."

Severus was hardly going to argue, even though it wasn't lost on him that Harry sounded slightly like he was trying to talk himself into it. He wordlessly set the soap in Harry's hand, and dropped his arms to his sides.

The young man toyed with the bar for a moment, then closed his eyes and thrust his hands under the water, blindly reaching for Severus' cock. When he found it, he gasped, probably because Severus was hard as a brick. 

Severus felt the soap rubbing against his length, and then Harry's hands, both of them, quickly slicking back and forth along his shaft. Then Harry jumped back and practically tossed the soap out of the tub. It went skidding across the floor. "There, all done."

Severus winced. Now, he sensed, was not the time to critique Harry's technique. He did wish, though, that he hadn't ended up with a bit of lather in the sensitive tip of his cock. 

"Thank you," he said, meaning it... discomfort and all.

Harry blushed. "Oh. Well, you did me, and I really ought to... uh, you know, but you said you couldn't in the water, you know, because of the rite you're not allowed? So other than that I'd have... uh, tried a little bit harder."

Had the situation not been so rich in context, Severus would not have understood one word Harry was trying to say. As it was, he understood everything perfectly. 

"Try not to think of any of our lovemaking in terms of _ought_ ," Severus dryly advised. "It's not very enjoyable to be touched because one's lover feels he _ought_ , Harry."

The young man looked startled, then chagrined. Then he appeared to push all that to the side and move on. "Why don't we get out and I'll trim your hair? I thought it might be good to save that for in-between. See, I think I need a while before I can... um, get excited again."

Severus started to climb from the tub. "I am a man, you realise. I do actually understand the refractory period."

Harry climbed out too, a little bit reluctantly, Severus thought. Certainly he wasted no time in wrapping himself in the towelling robe Severus handed him. "Do you have any scissors?"

Severus frowned. "In the lab, yes. Sometimes I have to eviscerate a creature whose skin or flesh is resistant to magical cutting--"

Harry made a face. "Severus, I didn't ask how you mangled your creatures. I just asked for scissors."

Severus tied the belt on his robe. "If you wish to cut my hair I fail to see why _Cortus_ won't do--"

"Because it won't," Harry insisted. "Look, if _Cortus_ worked that well on hair I wouldn't have noticed yours was hacked off funny."

"I tried to tell him," said a reedy voice emanating from the wall. "I said, 'Dearie, those split ends needed seeing to,' but when I offered to point out the rest he threatened me with _tarnish!_ "

Harry started laughing. "Oh, that's rich. If there's anyone I thought could make his own mirror behave, it would be you!"

"Nobody can _make_ mirrors behave," growled Severus, casting a glare in the mirror's direction. "All you can do is _break_ them."

The mirror went abruptly silent, its surface turning black and unreflective.

Harry was still laughing. "Just go get some scissors, Severus. Oh, but _Scourgify_ them or something. I really don't want to touch whatever you were last _eviscerating_."

"A good brewer always cleans his utensils directly after use!" exclaimed Severus, slightly offended.

"Yes, and a man who _wants some_ runs off and gets his scissors without another word," returned Harry. 

Severus opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. With a slight smirk, he _Accio'd_ the soap and transfigured it into a pair of sharp scissors, then slapped them into Harry's hand and strode out.

Without another word, just as Harry had said.


	35. Chapter 35

 

 

  
  
  
  


** Monday, June 8, 1998 ---- 9:05 p.m. **

_Snip, snip, snip._

"There," said Harry, stroking his fingers through Snape's neatly trimmed hair. When he realised what he was doing, he forced himself to step back. It was harder than he would have thought. He liked the feel of those smooth, silk-like strands falling through his fingers. He liked it a lot.

Snape lifted a few locks and examined the ends. "It will do."

"You're welcome," Harry drawled as he went to sit on the edge of the bed. There really wasn't anywhere else to sit, as Snape was occupying the sole chair in the room, but he still felt a little uneasy about the suggestiveness of it. Though of course he was down here to have sex, wasn't he? That was the whole point.

But that made him a bit uneasy as well. "So... um, I wanted to ask you for something," he ventured. The idea had been growing all through the haircut, but he didn't know how to say it. Part of him thought he _shouldn't_ say it, mostly because he might be going too far. It hadn't been what Snape had meant when he'd said Harry could be in charge; that seemed certain. And besides, he'd never felt comfortable asking someone to spend money on him. He'd just heard too many times what a burden he was.

"Are you only going to _want_ to ask, or are you actually going to ask?" Snape stood up quickly, turning around to face Harry, and Harry felt himself drawing in a sharp breath. They were both wearing nothing but the towelling robes they'd donned after their bath. Not so long ago, Harry would have thought Snape would look ridiculous in a knee-length terry-cloth robe, but instead, he looked... Harry wasn't even sure, except that it was intense.

He told himself it was just the way the white fabric set off Snape's black hair and eyes.

Then he told himself he had _not_ just used the phrase _set off_ like that. What was happening to him?

"At this point I presume you are in fact _not_ going to ask."

For some reason, Snape's deep voice that time made him shiver. Was he just remembering how... _amazing_ it had sounded when he was high on Dragon's Happy? 

"Uh, no, I am," Harry said, dragging his mind back on topic. "It's just that don't know how to say it." 

"You just _say it,_ " Snape advised, his tone a shade impatient, at least to Harry's ear. "You can ask for anything, Harry. The worst that will happen is I'll say _no_. For future reference, if you're asking for something sexual I will almost certainly accede." 

Harry glanced away from the other man's glittering eyes, and cleared his throat. "Uh, no, it wasn't sexual, actually."

"Pity," said Snape, that voice of his going so _smooth_ that Harry could hardly bear it. 

"I was wondering if we could go out to dinner tomorrow, that's all."

Snape appeared rather dumbstruck for a moment. "You were wondering if we could go out to _dinner?_ What's wrong with the food here at Hogwarts?"

"Nothing. It's just... look, I didn't think about this before because I was trying to pretend, I think... um, that I wasn't coming down here for sex, all right? But I was. And I am. And the thing is, I don't feel great about it. I mean, we're in this together right? For life. And well... I don't claim to know a lot about being someone's lover, but I'm pretty sure you're supposed to do other things together besides just sex."

Snape didn't reply. Not one word, which left Harry feeling like he must have bollixed that up. Which was pretty likely, actually. He didn't know how to really explain. He just knew that after the seventeenth he'd be stuck down in the dungeons with nothing to do and nobody to talk to except Snape, and if the only thing Snape wanted to do with him was have sex, then he'd end up feeling like some slave- _girl_ instead of just a slave. 

He just wanted them to start doing other things too, so even if they didn't like each other much outside the bedroom, he could pretend they did.

"I didn't mean you had to pay," Harry thought to say. Hmm, probably he should have started with that part. "I'll take you out, how's that? I still have some money I withdrew a while back, and you said I had to spend it anyway... what?"

Snape's voice was clipped. Almost furious, Harry thought. "I'm perfectly well aware that you're far more solvent than I."

Talk about a comment coming out of nowhere. "I... what makes you think that? You saw the accounting from Gringotts; there sure isn't any _Potter_ Manor--"

"Oh for Merlin's sake!" Snape exclaimed, his eyes narrowed. "Do you take everything you hear at face value? There isn't any _Snape_ Manor, either, not unless you count... well, let's just say my only home outside Hogwarts makes your family residence on Privet Drive look elegant!"

Now Harry was the one who was dumbstruck. For one thing, he wouldn't have thought Snape would ever have been to Privet Drive. But also... "But your quarters are just stuffed with tapestries and antiques and you're always going on about wines and _\--_ "

"Harry, I'm a single man with few expenses save those I choose to take on. I can afford to indulge myself. It doesn't mean my vault is overflowing with gold the way yours is."

Harry nodded, coming to terms with that, feeling uncomfortable that Snape had had to explain, even. Though it wasn't lost on him that Snape was going to have his vault stuffed full of gold soon, wasn't he? That was probably beside the point at the moment, though. "All right, well then I'll definitely pay."

"Actually, leaving Hogwarts is out of the question. Our being seen together would be disastrous."

"Well, that's why I decided we could go to Norway again--"

"I thought you didn't care for the Floo."

"I don't, but it's not like I can't handle it. I did before, you know."

Snape shook his head. "Harry, shopping for clothing is one thing. The rite required it since I didn't care to have you strip off in company. A completely unnecessary dinner out... no, I can't endorse it, not with the invocation so close."

Harry sighed and moved to sit on his own hands. "You said there were no Death Eaters in Scandinavia and the risk was minimal."

"I said there were no known Death Eaters. At the moment I'm not disposed to run even a minimal risk, however." Snape paused as though to consider the matter, but he ended up not saying anything more.

So Harry tried again. "Look, if we're really going to be lovers I think we have to do things outside the bedroom, right?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "I don't think we're using the word in the same way. To me it implies your permanent place in my bed. You have something else in mind?"

Harry coloured, because that _wasn't_ what he'd meant. Or, not exactly. Or, not the way Snape had made it sound, though God knew he might be misreading the other man's words or tone like he'd obviously done before. He still could hardly believe there wasn't really any Snape Manor. "I... Look, I just don't like the idea that that's all we ever do, all right? And you were just going on in there about how you're going to meet my needs, right? Well let me tell you, I have a pretty strong fucking need not to feel like I'm some.... _harem-boy,_ all right?"

By the end, Harry was shouting.

Snape tilted his head to the side. "All right. Why don't you eat very lightly in the Great Hall tomorrow evening, and we'll dine together once you arrive here?"

"The point is, I wanted to get out of the dungeons for once!"

"I'm afraid that's simply not practicable." Snape's expression shifted to something that Harry thought was supposed to be a sympathetic smile, but looked a whole lot more like a grimace. "I'll order Norwegian food, if you like."

"Oh, just forget the whole thing," Harry muttered. So much for Snape putting Harry's needs above his own. Though really, Harry never had believed the invocation symbolised any such thing. Snape wanted to think so, since beneath all his snide sarcasm and anger he did have a decent core. He didn't show it often, but it was there, and it meant he didn't particularly want to be a slave owner.

But he was going to be one whether he liked it or not, which meant that Harry would end up practically buried alive in the dungeons, hiding from the whole world just whom he really belonged to. One last trip to... _somewhere_ was starting to sound awfully tempting. He wouldn't even be able to walk into Hogsmeade alone, not after they invoked!

And it was a sure bet Snape would claim it was _impracticable_ to go anywhere with him, anywhere at all--

"Harry, I'm simply not disposed to take any risks at present."

"Ha," said Harry, but not very heatedly. "If he called you, you'd go straight to him, risk or no."

"In that case the benefit of knowing his plans outweighs all risk."

"You do know you're delusional, right?"

To Harry's astonishment, Snape chuckled slightly at that. But then he turned the subject away from his pretence of serving Voldemort. "Why is this so important to you, this dinner out?"

Harry shrugged. "Well it would feel more normal, that's all. All we do is sex."

"Not true. We generally pursue other matters as well, though I will admit that up until now they have been largely devoted to the invocation."

"Largely?" 

Snape gestured in slight concession. "Exclusively." His lip upper lip curled. "After we have successfully invoked we will be able to relax our schedule, you realise. We will do other things together."

 _Sure,_ thought Harry. _We have so much in common, after all._ "Forget it," he said again, disgusted with himself. So he'd be locked up in the dungeon with nobody but Snape for company, and Snape wouldn't want much to do with him outside the bedroom; he'd practically said as much the moment before. So what? It was probably just as well, considering that crossing their powers was going to require that Snape felt like he was getting whatever he wanted, sex-wise. 

Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face. Either that, or Snape could do a bit of wandless, wordless Legilimency. "A young man your age would normally not find an active sex life such an imposition."

"Yeah, well a young man my age would _normally_ get to--" 

_Sleep with a girl if he wanted,_ was what he'd been going to say. No point in that, though. Snape knew he wasn't attracted to men. Or _wouldn't_ be, anyway, if he hadn't been forced to. He couldn't help but realise that Snape had _some_ sort of appeal, but Harry chalked that up to the unavoidable fact that the man knew how to make Harry climax screaming. It was sexual talent; that was it. And he was stuck with Snape, so he'd be pretty stupid to not enjoy that as Hermione had advised, but it still didn't mean he was the kind of person who _really_ found Snape attractive, or liked men.

Or anything.

"Choose his own partner," Snape finished his sentence. 

"Something like that." Harry sighed. "I don't mean to whinge on and on about it."

Because after all, whinging never solved a single thing. Maybe he never _would_ get to go anywhere else, ever again, but worrying about it now was putting the cart before the horse, wasn't it? He still had to get through the invocation; get through it successfully. Or else he wouldn't be going anywhere else ever again, because he'd be dead. 

Along with Hermione and Ron and everyone else.

So it all came back to what he'd realised weeks ago. He had to become more willing. More comfortable with sex. And with Snape. And with sex _with_ Snape.

But at least now he had an idea of how to accomplish that. 

Swallowing his disappointment, Harry stood up from the bed and walked the short distance to where Snape was standing. At least he wouldn't lose his nerve this time, when it came to undressing the man, towelling robes being sort of an all-or-nothing arrangement.

Harry steadied his hands, then reached out to untie the single knot that was holding Snape's robe closed. 

It fell open with a slight whoosh of fabric fluttering back, and though he tried hard not to, Harry couldn't help but glance down at what he had bared. Past the scars on the man's chest, past the lean yet muscled stomach, past that thatch of dark hair, so similar to Harry's own... 

He wasn't too surprised to see that the man's large cock was thick with need and getting thicker the longer he watched it. Unlike Harry, Snape hadn't had any release in the bath, so it only stood to reason that he'd be a bit... on edge. More than a bit, actually. Telling himself he'd get used to it, Harry reached his hands down and felt Snape there from base to tip.

 _Skin as smooth as that voice,_ the thought came unbidden into his mind. He felt uncomfortable thinking a thing like that, but he pushed himself past it. It was good he could find something to appreciate in this, wasn't it? He told himself it was, and to be grateful for small favours, because his life ahead--years and years and years of it--would only be worse if he couldn't take any pleasure in touching his lover. 

Though now it seemed they were destined to be lovers in bed and nowhere else. The prospect just seemed... _flat_ , to Harry. It wasn't that he wanted more with Snape, exactly. He just wanted a normal relationship with _someone._ He wanted a normal life, or as much of one that he could have with _Podentes_ in the way. But since when had anything about his existence been remotely normal? He'd go mad if he spent those years ahead wishing for what _wasn't_ ; he had to learn to be content with what _was._

And at least things in the bedroom could be very good, if he'd just let go of that little voice inside him that kept complaining.

Well, he'd managed to let it go for a while in the bath. Drawing in a deep breath, Harry forced it away again, and began to move his hands back and forth along Snape's cock, exploring the feel of him as he tensed and lengthened. The skin here _was_ smooth, though underneath the silky surface he could feel the same slight bumps and ridges that his own cock possessed. Somehow that felt good and right to him, that Snape was a man as he was, and so Harry would know what to do. 

Tightening one hand around the shaft, Harry squeezed slightly as he moved his free fingers to caress the man's foreskin, sliding it around and around in circles to tease the cock head beneath. 

He almost smiled when Snape responded so well to the attentions that foreskin play became all but impossible. He knew then that it wouldn't take very much to make Snape come. The thought made his breath come in short little gasps.

He told himself it was just fear of the unknown, though deep down somewhere, he recognised the feelings as very much akin to excitement.

At any rate, he didn't want Snape coming so soon, not with what he had in mind to move to next. He wanted to know, after all, that Snape could be careful with him even when the man was burning with need.

Harry moved his hands off that cock--it _was_ as heavy as it had looked--and pushed the robe off Snape's shoulders so the man was completely naked. Then he stepped back and wordlessly gestured for Snape to undress him as well.

Snape untied his belt and shoved the robe to the ground, but then his hands were drawn to Harry's cock, almost instantly setting up a rhythm Harry recognised by now. Harry bit his lip to keep from gasping out loud, and it only got worse when Snape moved to stand behind him, his cock pressed up against Harry's arse, his head bent to whisper in Harry's ear while his hands kept up that smooth, even rhythm that Harry's cock had learned to love.

"What do you want?" Snape breathed, the words seeming to offer whole vistas of sexual delights. "Anything, Harry."

His hand squeezed, and Harry shuddered, but Snape was far from satisfied. "Shall I kneel down before you and swallow you whole, take you in my mouth until you convulse with pleasure? Shall I--"

"Stop leading," Harry managed to gasp. "Let go of me--"

And Snape did, though his fingers lingered longest, almost as though they were saying good-bye.

Harry was tempted--well hell, who wouldn't be--by that intriguing offer of mouth-on-cock, but he was positive it would distract him from what he had wanted to accomplish tonight. He took a moment to let his mind clear, as much as it could, anyway, and looked up at Snape, who had moved to stand in front of him again, and was simply waiting.

Hard as a rock, his black eyes blazing, but waiting.

That reassured Harry and helped him feel like this wouldn't spiral out of control into something he couldn't handle yet.

Drawing in another deep breath, he talked as he exhaled. That really was a good way to deal with nervousness, he'd learned.

"I thought we should try fingers," he heard himself say, belatedly adding, "Severus."

"Ah." Snape looked pleased enough by that, which Harry thought was frankly weird. How could the prospect of shoving your fingers up another bloke's bum be... _exciting?_ But to Snape it clearly was; the man's cock had twitched at the thought.

Harry told himself he _really_ had to stop doing quite so much cock-watching.

"Um, so I sort of tried to visualise the fingers thing," Harry admitted, "but I can't quite figure out the right... er, position. Did you want me to sort of bend over...?"

Snape got an odd look on his face, like he was repressing laughter. It was gone in an instant, but Harry was sure he hadn't imagined it. 

"I think I'd rather we both got on the bed and proceeded from there," the man said, his voice mild. "Though as you just reminded me, this is about what _you_ want."

"I..." Harry swallowed back a rush of nervousness. Now that he was really going to do this, it seemed more daunting than ever. "Yeah, on the bed. All right." He grabbed his wand along the way and dimmed the lights to about half normal strength. He'd rather have extinguished them completely, like before, but he had a feeling he'd rather Snape be able to see what he was doing.

He turned down the coverlet, then lay down on his stomach beneath it, scooting over to the far end of the bed. The mattress dipped as Snape slid in beside him. Tensing, Harry mashed his face straight down into his pillow, and told himself that it wouldn't be so bad. Snape _did_ know what he was doing. Harry believed that... but somehow, it didn't help to believe it. There was still a knot of dread in his stomach, growing tighter and tighter the longer he lay there and waited. 

And it didn't help that after a moment the phrase _pillow-biter_ surged up in his mind to mock him. Oh God, he _was_ one now. Or about to be, literally. And if he was, it must be better just to get it the hell over with.

He turned his face to the side and saw Snape leaning up against the headboard, his hands calmly folded in his lap. 

"Well?" 

The Potions Master flicked a glance down at him. "Have you decided what you want?"

Harry stared at him. "Yeah, _fingers._ "

"I meant specifically." Snape paused, then went on, "Position, for instance. Is that the one you prefer?"

Feeling a bit like his brain was going to explode, Harry exclaimed, "How should I know?"

Snape shrugged, the motion slight. "I know of one that would probably be a great deal more enjoyable for you, but I let myself get carried away a moment ago. Leading, as you pointed out."

 _Oh._ Now Harry felt more like a balloon someone had just punctured, his anger all just rushing out and getting lost somewhere. "Right. Um, yeah, I did say that. But I was actually sort of hoping you'd um, take charge of this little bit." He felt himself blushing, which hadn't happened in a little while. "I think you probably know how to make it... uh, work, right? And I trust you to stop if I say, so could you just..."

Snape nodded, sliding down in the bed next to him. "If we want this to go well, the first thing is to help you lose all this tension."

"Good luck with that," Harry muttered.

A hand settled onto his back and rubbed slow circles. "Oh, I think I can manage to relax you. It means we won't get to the stretching play for a little while, but--"

"I was sort of hoping to get it over with."

"That's not the best way, though if you insist...?"

Harry felt his face heat, and turned it away. "No, it's better if it goes well, I guess. So you... you just go ahead and do whatever you think will help."

" _Accio salveo,_ " murmured Snape. Harry heard it slap into his hand, then felt the coverlet being turned down. All the way down, actually, so that even his bare feet were exposed to the cool air of the dungeons. Not that it felt cool at the moment. Harry felt hot all over.

Snape moved to straddle Harry's thighs, and then the familiar scent of his special backrub salve filled the air. 

Tension seemed to drain from Harry as Snape's strong hands began to massage his shoulders and neck, seeking out every kink, persuading every taut muscle to slacken. 

"That's good," Harry admitted on a sigh, stretching out his neck this way and that as Snape's firm, probing fingers continued to work their own brand of magic. 

Snape's hands moved lower, tracing each and every vertebra, working out the tension between them, until Harry felt like he was almost melting into the mattress beneath. Not all of him was melting, though. One part was coming to life, teased by the heady promise of those hands. Harry shifted his hips a little bit, pressing them into the mattress.

He heard Snape chuckle slightly, and almost expected him to say Harry should roll over now, but of course _that_ wasn't what he was working toward, was it? 

Sure enough, he felt Snape's hands descend again, rubbing salve into his backside now, moving in slow circles over first one cheek and then the other. Harry tensed again. He couldn't help it, because any second now one of those long fingers would be inching inside him, right?

That didn't happen, though. Snape just kept on with the massage, actually moving up to the small of his back and leaning harder into it, so that Harry _moaned_ , that felt so good. The other man's hard cock was poking him now, a hard throb against the back of his thigh, but Harry didn't flinch. It seemed all right. He trusted Snape, he realised. The other man might be throbbing with need, but he wasn't going to lose control and shove that cock up inside Harry. Or... not tonight, anyway. Sooner or later it would have to happen.

He was almost tempted just to say to do it _now_ and get it the hell over with, but he didn't _really_ want Snape to do that to him, so he couldn't quite make himself ask.

"You're tensing again," Snape's low voice broke through the silence. "Harry, it's important that you relax...."

Right. Harry was sure it was, by then. He didn't know much, but he could read Snape, at least some, and he could tell that the other man really, _really_ didn't want to proceed to fingers until Harry was all right with it. Physically, as well as mentally.

He drew in a deep breath and concentrated on the scent of the salve. Clover as usual, though somehow now it seemed laced through with something even sweeter still. Honey, maybe. He started meditating a bit, trying to let that scent fill him up from the outside in, picturing it flowing through his veins.

As his body slumped bonelessly into the mattress, his cock swelled again.

"There, good," murmured Snape, one finger stealing downwards again to slip in between Harry's arse cheeks. "Stay relaxed," he said. "I'm not even starting."

And he wasn't; that was true enough. He was still just massaging, making no effort to seek entry into Harry's body, and then his hands were on Harry's sides instead, and Snape was lying down atop him, nothing but a thin sheen of salve between them.

Harry's cock tried to jump through the mattress, that weight atop him felt so good. 

Skin slid on skin as Snape positioned himself so that he could reach the side of Harry's neck with his mouth. And then the man was kissing his neck, his tongue swirling in semicircles to tease a strong tendon, even as his hands kept up the massage, stroking up and down, up and down the length of Harry's sides.

That hard cock jutted up against Harry's thigh again, this time his inside thigh. Snape thrust against Harry in a rhythm that made Harry undulate his hips to seek release. 

Snape eased off him, then, the movement striking Harry as a little bit regretful. "Roll over," he urged.

Harry turned his head, sure he hadn't heard that right. "Over on my back?" That couldn't be right, could it?

Instead of answering, Snape put his hands on Harry's hips to help him move.

Once he was on his back and looking up at Snape, Harry cleared his throat. "Um, so are you going to, now?"

"In good time."

Harry took that to mean he was tensing up again, which was true enough. He tried to stop it but couldn't quite manage. "I'm sorry--"

"Shh," Snape said, laying a finger across Harry's lips as he settled in by Harry's side. His other hand wrapped itself around Harry's cock and began to pump, though he stayed well away from the tip. Harry found it maddening and bucked his hips trying to get the man's hand to slide all the way up and down, but Snape merely chuckled and kept on... _teasing_ him, Harry slowly realised.

"Now," he said after a moment, his voice so smooth and deep that Harry gasped, "part your legs for me."

The strangest thing happened then. Harry realised with a start that he _wanted_ to. That it sounded good, like there were pleasures he'd never known existed, but Snape knew, and would give him every one. Of course, some deep part of him started objecting, saying no, that he was letting _too_ much go, surely, but Harry ignored it and moved his ankles apart, bending his knees a little to widen his legs still further.

Harry's cock was full to bursting by then, and lying atop his own stomach, the hungry tip pointed at his face. Snape's hand never left it, but as Harry spread his thighs apart, the man shifted position on the bed to move down until his head was level with Harry's hip. He rolled atop Harry again then, nudging Harry's legs apart even more as he lay down in between them. 

A strange noise filled Harry's ears, and he was slow to recognise it as his own fevered breaths. _Panting._

"That's right, stay relaxed," Snape urged in a low, intense tone, his hand rewarding Harry by stroking the tip of his cock now, so that Harry softly keened, he felt so much in need. He heard Snape's seductive voice talking again, promising to meet his needs, saying that Harry had sexual needs and he would meet each and every one... except, this voice was inside his head. 

The scent of salve intensified, and then Harry felt Snape truly beginning what Harry had asked for. Those long fingers, moist and dripping with salve, parted his arse cheeks again. One of them touched the entrance to his body, and as he jerked slightly, he heard a soft spell. Latin words he didn't know and couldn't guess, but Snape was obviously doing something to him with them, for a bubbling tingle washed through his lower abdomen. He hadn't noticed Snape picking up his wand, but he noticed him laying it to the side. 

Harry started to ask a question, but Snape didn't let him get past the first word.

"I'm just preparing you," the man murmured. "It's easier if you're prepared."

Harry nodded, more to himself than Snape, and moved his legs apart a little more to say that he hadn't meant to object to the tingle. 

That long finger that had touched him so intimately was rubbing circles now, teasing the entrance to his body, occasionally making little jabbing motions that made Harry feel like he _wanted_ something up in there. 

And all the while, his cock was getting more than its share of attention from Snape's other hand as the man balanced himself on his elbows or something. Harry wasn't really sure, and he didn't want to sit up and see. He just wanted to lie back and be _indulged_ like this, one hand taking care of his cock, the other one teasing him in a place he'd never thought as pleasurable before, and through it all, Snape's hair sweeping across his hips and thighs as the man moved from time to time.

He felt suspended in pleasure, like it wouldn't matter so much if they were lovers only in the bedroom, because _this_ was good enough to make up for anything...

Until it got even better, so much better that he thought his mind would explode, for he felt a pressure now, a pressure he never would have believed could be... _satisfying_ , but it was. Snape was pressing a single finger up into him, Harry realised, and the sensation of it seemed to make the ache in his cock all the more intense. 

"All right?" said Snape, and Harry made some sort of noise in answer. Not a moan, not a groan, certainly not a grunt, but for all that it was completely incoherent.

A low noise of laughter then, but it wasn't Snape laughing at him; Harry knew that. It was just enjoyment. And that was all right...

The finger inside him moved, a slow wet caress, making Harry wonder just how Snape had got so much salve up inside him. Oh, the _spell,_ that must be it...

"This is... _nice_ ," Harry said, finally managing to answer Snape's question. Feeling like he was coming more back into his own mind after that initial surprise at how satisfying all this could be, Harry moved his hips experimentally to see what that would do. He wasn't exactly sure if he was trying to grasp onto more of that finger or if all he really wanted was more friction on his cock, but the move produced both effects at once. More than that, the move made the finger inside him brush up against something that seemed to send a jolt of need just _surging_ down his cock. Harry heard himself start babbling. "Oh, _God---_ "

"You can see why I was astounded you would think there'd be no pleasure in this for you," Snape said when Harry stopped gibbering. Harry could hear a smile in the man's voice, but he didn't mind that, any more than he'd minded the laughter a moment before. Snape did some sort of move with his hand, then. A twist, Harry thought; he could feel knuckles brushing his backside. Whatever it was, though, it caused the long finger inside to bump up against that special spot again. "That's your prostate," murmured Snape as Harry groaned and twisted his body to get more contact. "Have you ever heard the word?"

It took Harry a moment to speak. "Yeah. Prostate, right. Something about cancer--"

"No, not in wizards," corrected Snape. "For us it's only about pleasure." 

He touched that same spot again as he spoke, and Harry thought the top of his head was blowing off. He actually thought he would come, but Snape's hand wasn't encouraging that, not now. 

The man stopped and withdrew his finger then, pulling halfway out so it was nowhere near that special spot. Harry was embarrassed to feel himself sort of clenching onto Snape's finger, trying to keep him inside. For one insane moment he wondered if Snape thought that was hot. But of course Snape's cock was out of sight, tucked between Snape's body and the mattress, so Harry couldn't even reach it to check.

Not that he had been going to, of course.

"Imagine what it will feel like to have a man stroking that with every thrust of his hips," Snape went on, speaking softly. "Believe me, Harry, this kind of sex is every bit as pleasurable as any other. For _both_ men involved."

Harry was pretty far gone, but he could still think well enough to object, "Well a finger is one thing, you know..."

"True," said Snape, bending down to swirl a kiss onto Harry's stomach, just above where his hand was still smoothly pumping up and down on Harry's cock. "I'll try more than one then, shall I?"

Inexplicably, Harry felt himself tensing up again, his stomach tightly clenching. His arse, too. He couldn't really explain it, since Snape hadn't hurt him in the least. Surely he should be more at ease now than before? 

At least Snape didn't seem disturbed by what Harry himself could only regard as backsliding. "That makes you nervous, quite obviously," he murmured. "But I do know something that will help, and you're in the ideal position for it. Imagine that."

"Go ahead," said Harry, not even caring what it was that would _help_. He was back to wanting to get it over with. 

The next thing he knew, the finger inside him was withdrawing completely, and he felt two fingers pressing against the entrance to his body, which felt sensitised by now. 

Two fingers, thrusting smoothly forward past something that seemed to resist them, though Harry was trying not to fight it.

A burning sensation, very slight, very fleeting. It was uncomfortable, though also somehow so _intense_ that he didn't mind.

And then the fingers broke through the resistance to enter his body, and at the same precise instant, Snape let go of his cock and licked it with one slow swipe of his tongue, all the way from base to tip, where he lingered to lap at the fluid gathering there.

Harry screamed, and without really meaning to, grabbed for Snape's hair, thrusting his hands against the man's scalp and trying to move his head to get another lick like the first.

Snape waited though, until Harry had calmed somewhat. "More?"

" _God,_ yes..."

This time he thrust his fingers back and forth first, not touching the prostate but just moving them in and out. Harry could still feel a slight sensation of discomfort as his muscles eased and stretched, but against the pleasure that came right along with it, it didn't seem very important. Snape began to scissor his fingers inside, stretching Harry more deliberately now, and the longer it went on, the more Harry's cock began to weep for another slow sweep of tongue. 

His patience was rewarded eventually, but that was all Snape gave him. One more lick. 

And then a third finger, which actually burned so much that Harry gasped in something other than pleasure, but again, the sensation wasn't what he would actually call pain, either. It was just...part of doing this, he supposed. He'd never thought there could be a good hurt, but this certainly qualified. Maybe because it was drenched from start to finish in so much pure _sizzle_. 

Snape began using his lips and tongue to kiss the slight hurt better, except, he wasn't kissing where it hurt, was he? He was kissing Harry's cock, and the sensation of _that_ was so intense that Harry could barely endure a second longer. When the three fingers inside him moved and stretched and twisted in a way that massaged his prostate once more, he knew his time was up. 

He tried to push Snape's mouth away, but the man was fastened to him, suckling the underside of his cock, his tongue actually _urging_ the surge of pleasure to erupt.

Harry screamed again, hoarsely, as he felt all the tension inside him explode deep in his balls to come rushing out the tip of his cock. Pulse after pulse after pulse of it spraying up over his belly and chest and as far as his _chin_ , Snape's mouth clamped to the side of his cock all the while, teasing and nibbling and massaging him until Harry was entirely spent.

It was with a strange mix of embarrassment and astonishment that Harry finally surfaced from the riot of sensation. For Snape's fingers were _still_ inside him. Up to the hilt, as far as Harry could tell. 

Snape's mouth let go of Harry's cock at last, and he slid his fingers smoothly out, then used his other hand to reach for his wand and cast a few cleaning spells. The whitish come dotting Harry's belly and chest and chin vanished with a tingle.

But there was still a streak of fluid on Snape's cheek, he noticed with mortification. Did Snape know it was there? 

_Oh, guess he does,_ Harry thought as the man used a finger to swipe at it.

Harry felt himself go hot all over, but not with passion this time. He'd never, ever been so embarrassed in all his life. "Um, sorry about that. I tried not to... er.. Look, it's your fault it got on you, you know!"

Snape's teeth glinted in the half-light as he lay down alongside Harry. "I'm perfectly happy for you to come two inches from my face, Harry. Though I admit I would prefer it in my mouth."

With that, he was licking his finger clean.

Harry gaped, then followed the words to their logical conclusion to ask, "Um, well if you like... _that,_ then why didn't you... er..."

"I thought it might be a little more _leading_ than you had in mind." Snape's teeth glinted again. It wasn't so much a smile as it was predatory, though not in any threatening way... which was interesting in of itself. "However, if the idea appeals, you only have to ask."

"I... uh..." The truth was, Harry was tempted to _ask_ right then and there, though of course he'd just come and it would be a while before he'd be ready. But that reminded him. "What about you?"

Snape didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Ah. Well, that's up to you, Harry. You're in charge once more."

Right. They were past the fingers. Or... almost, because Harry had a question. 

"You know, it didn't not hurt, especially when you were using three fingers," he said, frowning. "And your... um..."

"Say _cock_ ," Snape dryly advised. 

"Um, all right. So I was saying, your _cock_ is bigger around than three fingers, isn't it? So I have to think it's going to be at least a _little_ uncomfortable."

"I don't believe I ever told you it wouldn't so much as sting. It may hurt, especially in the beginning, but it won't _hurt you_. Do you see the difference?"

"Yeah," Harry said, though he shivered.

Snape moved a hand to Harry's belly, his fingers splayed. The gesture felt possessive to Harry, but he found he didn't mind. 

"Are you still dreading it?"

"Not so much," admitted Harry, blushing. "I... I think I'm going to like it all right. Well, maybe after the first bit." He felt awkward asking the next question, though God knew he shouldn't, after all the times Snape had brought him to a climax. "You won't... um, I can imagine it has to be pretty good for you, too, but you won't get completely lost in it, will you? I mean, you'll watch out for if it starts to hurt too much and you'll... um, you'll make sure I come as well, I think?"

A low hiss of noise. "Oh, yes."

It _had_ been a stupid question. Of course Snape would take care of him in that way; he _liked_ Harry's orgasms, after all. Harry supposed he'd really only asked because _he'd_ gotten lost in the sensations. He hadn't had one thought to spare for Snape's pleasure, not during that firestorm of need and culmination the other man had conjured. 

But maybe that was how it was for everyone when they were new to making love.

 _Making love..._ some part of him almost cringed, but he sternly told that part to shut up. Or grow up, maybe.

Harry might be new to all of this, but he wasn't so young and thoughtless as to not realise how terrible it would be for him to leave _now_ , when Snape had pleasured him twice and he hadn't done a thing in return. And thinking like a Slytherin, which he couldn't seem to help but do sometimes, it wasn't very good strategy either. All too soon he'd be this man's slave, so it was hardly in his best interests to misuse the temporary authority Snape had decided to give him. Snape would probably never say a word about it, but neither would he forget.

Besides, Harry realised, he was a little bit... _curious_ how it might feel to make Snape lose control. 

"Roll onto your back," he suddenly said, before he thought about it any more. He didn't want to back out from what he'd decided to do. Actually, he'd had this in mind for the way to finish their evening all along. He just hadn't expected to climax during the fingers business. He'd thought he'd still be in need himself when it came time to do this.

Actually, that would have made things a whole lot easier. 

But he figured that it would still work, at any rate.

The moment Snape had moved as requested, Harry sat up and lay down on top of the other man, matching their hips together. It meant there wouldn't be too much kissing, as he couldn't quite reach, but he wasn't sure it would qualify as frottage unless they were cock to cock.

Snape's lips parted on an almost soundless gasp when Harry started to undulate against him, smoothly rolling his hips. He wasn't sure he was doing it right--well, before that gasp he hadn't been sure--but it felt good to him. It felt even better as soon as he looked up and caught the expression on Snape's face. 

_Mmm_ , all right, so Snape liked it just fine. 

It was also sort of nice that he looked vaguely impressed, like he hadn't expected this much consideration. 

Harry stopped watching Snape's face and let his head fall down to the man's chest, where he tried to kiss and suckle in time to what was going on down below. He started with the scars as before--something about them just seemed to call to him--but before long he found himself drawn to the man's nipples, laving first one then another. Snape seemed to appreciate that well enough. His hands came up to grasp Harry's hips and move them a bit more urgently. That was leading, Harry thought. Definitely. But he found he didn't mind. It was sort of like Snape was teaching him there, how to best move, how to jerk his hips sharply at the end of a roll, how to angle his cock so that it slid straight up against Snape's as they moved together.

All the things Snape liked in frottage, Harry assumed. And he found he liked knowing about them. _Do what feels good_ was actually quite brilliant advice. Snape was obviously following it, and as his thrusts grew more demanding, Harry felt his own cock hardening up again, and when he did what felt good to him--namely, reaching up a hand to tuft it through Snape's long, sleek hair--the Potions Master made a growling noise low in his throat and began to come.

Harry only really realised when his stomach slid across something warm and wet. 

Snape's obvious pleasure made Harry's own spiral upwards further, and it was then that Harry understood the full truth. _Do what feels good_ was going to make the other person feel good, too. He _liked_ Snape's orgasm, liked the way the man was breathing raggedly, his fingers digging into Harry's hips. 

For the first time, he understood why Snape liked making _him_ come.

It was a heady feeling, knowing he could reduce the other man to.... well, not whimpers. Even when climaxing, Snape retained a certain air of iron self-control. Like he was holding himself back.

It gave Harry a strong urge to do something that would make Snape scream with pleasure, that would make him lose all control. Harry wondered what it would take.

As Snape's orgasm ebbed to a halt, he pulled Harry off him and tucked the young man against his side, urging Harry's head onto his shoulder. Again, it was leading, but Harry found he didn't mind. There was obviously an ebb and flow in lovemaking, one it was best not to disrupt with talk of who was in charge now. 

"Thank you," said Snape in a low, sincere tone. 

It was only then that Harry realised he'd been living with his stomach tied in knots for weeks. Because now, all those knots were finally dissolving. For the first time since he'd read the précis, he felt like everything would be all right. He wasn't going to end up getting injured. Actually, he felt a little bit silly now for having been so afraid. Now that the fear had dissolved, he could see the truth: he wasn't even in danger of being _used_ ; whatever Snape's other faults, he was considerate lover.

"I'm not worried about the sex any longer," Harry thought to say, though he did feel a little strange about lying there where he could see Snape's chest and belly glistening with smeared come. "But... um, could you tell I was getting a little bit... um, hard again, there at the end?"

Snape merely nodded. 

"Well for the invocation I have to come three times, right? And... I felt like I couldn't manage that tonight."

Snape curled his arm more tightly around Harry and pulled him closer. "On the seventeenth we'll have all night."

"Yeah...."

"Don't trouble yourself, Harry," advised Snape in a sleepy voice. "I have no doubt at all that we will be able to invoke this spell. We'll go into it as lovers, comfortable with each other..."

Harry stiffened hearing that. There was more to _Cambiare Podentes_ than being lovers, certainly. What about the other things Snape had written in his précis? He'd told Harry not to take it too literally, but Harry couldn't help but feel that underneath all the anger in the document, there was also truth.

And the truth was, sex wasn't the only obstacle they were up against. 

Harry shifted in Snape's arms, worried. "Severus..."

"Hmm?"

Harry threw his arm across the other man, by then not even caring that Snape's chest was a bit messy, and held him tight. "I can _do_ the sex; I know that now. I even sort of... uh, want to, if you can believe that. But I _don't_ want to be your slave, I just don't! I can agree to it, I can submit to it, because I know I have to, to save myself and my friends! But that's _not_ the same as feeling some fervent desire to be your property and I can't _get_ to there! I've tried, and it's just not in me! And... I think I'm going to die on my birthday! I'm just not cut out to be somebody's slave!"

Snape surged up on one elbow and pulled Harry up against him so they could see eye-to-eye. "You aren't going to die. You're _mine_ , and I'll kill anyone who harms you, I _promise_."

Harry closed his eyes against the resolution he saw in Snape's, because this was one case in which good intentions wouldn't help at all. "You can't, Severus. You can't kill _him_ ; only I can! And I'm not even going to have the chance if I don't get the invocation right... I won't be ready to kill him by my birthday! I need years of training--"

Snape leaned over and cut off the rest of that with a kiss, his mouth moving demandingly over Harry's. It was so violent it was almost painful, but it felt strangely good. 

" _Cambiare is the key,_ " he quoted when he broke it off. "You thought you wouldn't like having sex with me, either, but you _do_. You've become my lover when before you couldn't bear to so much as entertain the thought. And now you think you can't give yourself entirely to me on the seventeenth, Harry, but you can. You are every bit strong and brave enough to surrender to me. And it's strength that makes this kind of surrender possible, you know. Not weakness. _Cambiare_ isn't _for_ the weak, not really."

"The weak wizard being preyed upon--"

"Not weak in here," said Snape, tapping Harry's temple with his fingertip. "Or here," he said, covering Harry's heart with his hand, the fingers splayed as before.

Again, Harry realised that Snape was practically on fire with possessiveness. And again, he found he didn't mind. It was good that Snape wanted him that much, wanted to _own_ him, though on a conscious level Snape had enough integrity to resist that feeling. Yes, he _was_ a decent man; he knew it was better to want a lover than a slave.

Only, it _wasn't_ better, not in this case. Snape might be able to pretend that _Podentes_ wasn't what it was, but as the supplicant, Harry didn't have that luxury. He had to want to be property. To be owned, to be a possession. He had to _yearn_ for it with every last particle of his soul. 

And he still didn't know how he could get from here to there in the week and a day left to him. 

But Snape was right. _Cambiare is the key. Is, _not could be or might be. _Is. _

If he believed in prophecy at all, he had to accept that there would be a way to make it work. That he'd _find_ a way to become every bit the slave the prophecy demanded.

And if he _didn't_ believe in prophecy, then he had no business coming down to the dungeons at all. So really, his decision was already made.

They would invoke. 

Somehow. 


	36. Chapter 36

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Tuesday, June 9, 1998 ---- 6:55 p.m.**

As usual, the headmaster wasn't in his office. Well, that was just as well, considering Harry didn't have much to say to Albus Dumbledore. All told, there wasn't much _to_ say. Harry didn't exactly feel the headmaster had betrayed him; he knew as well as anyone that there just weren't any good options to be had. 

But still, some small part of him didn't like the way the headmaster had so readily acquiesced to the idea that Harry should live out all his days--and nights--as Severus Snape's slave. 

_At least the sex is good, though,_ a little voice inside his head reminded him. _And that's more than you were expecting..._

Harry sighed as he shed his school cloak and stepped into the headmaster's cavernous fireplace. Sure, sure, the sex was good. More than good, actually. It was bloody fantastic, and looked likely to continue in that vein. Snape wasn't going to be devoted only to his own pleasure; that much seemed certain. Even after they invoked and Harry was no longer _in charge_ in the bedroom, they seemed pretty well-fated to have what Hermione would call a healthy, mutually satisfying sex life. 

And that would just have to be enough, wouldn't it? Snape wasn't interested in anything else, it seemed. Not even a single dinner out. Not even after Harry had said he was going to need more than the stone walls of the dungeons to keep him sane. 

Well, Harry thought as he held his hand out, powder dripping from between his clenched fingers, if the only _good_ part of his life was going to be in the bedroom, then he'd just have to make the very most of it, wouldn't he? Starting tonight, while he was still in the driver's seat. That would end all too soon, so he might as well take advantage of it while it lasted. 

It's not like Snape would object that much, was it? By then, Harry had figured out that the man must want to give him a blow-job. Why else would he bring it up five times a night, or _tease_ Harry with the promise of one the evening before? And he'd reduced Harry to a gibbering mass, hadn't he, and smiled indulgently about it, afterwards! 

_Time to turn the tables,_ Harry thought, his simmering anger coming to a boil. _So he can't be bothered taking me anywhere. So he could care less about any of my needs unless they happen to coincide with his. So there's nothing I can really do about it. I can still have this, can't I? For one more week, I can have him as my slave in the bedroom. And I'll start with telling him to suck my cock like he keeps hinting around at. Yeah, and then after that I'll just see if I can't make him_ _scream and lose control. See how he likes being ordered, for a change._

Flinging the Floo powder to the stones, Harry shouted the words that would send him spinning down to the dungeons. 

  
  
  
  


**Tuesday, June 9, 1998 ---- 7:00 p.m.**

Yesterday's unopened bottle of _Chateau d'Yquem,_ freshly chilled,was sitting out with the Madeira glasses again. Severus was just laying his wand aside when Harry came tumbling out of the Floo. Jumping up, the young man shoved his glasses back into place and dusted himself off in several places, then glared around the room, finally meeting Severus' eyes. 

Harry looked... surprisingly hostile, Severus realised with a start. Scowling, even. For a moment, Severus wondered if he should have ignored Harry's _forget all about it_ and arranged for a Norwegian meal after all. But then the young man spoke, and Severus realised that Harry's anger was a front for something else. 

Nervousness, because Harry had apparently decided to take charge like never before. 

"Let's go into the bedroom so you can suck me off." 

Severus felt a frisson of excitement curling at the base of his cock, even if the words were gruff and quite a bit cruder than Harry's usual manner of speaking. That was just the nervousness talking. A young man with as little experience as Harry would have to be a bit uneasy simply walking in and demanding that. And it _had_ been quite demanding. Again, not quite like the Harry he knew, but since Severus was delighted to oblige, he wasn't about to object. 

Severus scooped up his wand and led the way into the bedroom, where he raised his fingers to the top button on Harry's shirt. 

"No," said Harry, his voice harder than Severus had ever heard it. "You undress. Yourself. And then you can take out my prick. _Just_ my prick." 

Harry didn't want to get undressed? That was a bit odd, but Severus intended to keep his agreement to let Harry lead, so he proceeded to strip off slowly as the lights blazed full strength. Harry watched, those green eyes of his narrowed, though Severus didn't think it was in appreciation. At least it wasn't disdain; that would have to be enough for now. 

"You like the idea." 

"Of course I like it," answered Severus easily as he lowered his shorts, an act which could not help but demonstrate just how much he had looked forward to this. "You'll like it as well, I warrant." 

"Oh yes, I'm sure. Everything in the bedroom will be fine," Harry returned, the words placid on the surface but somehow bitter just beneath. Severus tried to make sense of that, but before he could, the young man was talking again. "On your knees, then, Severus." 

Severus raised an eyebrow, as he could think of much better positions. 

"Didn't you hear me? On your knees like you talked about." 

Oh, so that was it. Harry hadn't realised that had been meant that metaphorically. On the other hand, Severus didn't mind complying, especially considering it was a position which would tend to reinforce Harry's feeling of control. The young man needed that, Severus thought, needed physical as well as verbal assurance that Severus wouldn't take matters any further than Harry had in mind. 

So he dropped down to his knees, naked, and began to unfasten Harry's trousers. 

Harry's cock, when he pulled it free of the Y-fronts, was fully aroused already, which was no great wonder. Harry had probably been thinking about this all day. Severus certainly would have, if he'd known his evening would begin on such an auspicious note. 

The young man's breathing quickened, then stopped completely for a moment when Severus opened his mouth wide and swallowed Harry whole, right down to the root, just as promised. 

"Oh, _God--_ " Harry gasped out after a second. "That's so _hot,_ and _wet--_ " 

"Mmm," said Severus, liking the way Harry jerked. 

Severus set to work then, pulling Harry in and out of his mouth, using slow, steady strokes. He was gratified when the young man's hands settled onto his shoulders for balance, then still more gratified when those hands began trembling. 

"I... I..." 

_I'm almost ready to come,_ Severus surmised. He didn't want things to be over quite that quickly, though, so he pulled back and began to lick and suckle at the head for a bit. His hands reached up to push Harry's Y-fronts down further so that he might cup the young man's taut balls and gently roll them between his hands. Even that was too much stimulation, though, so Severus reluctantly moved his mouth off Harry's cock head and contented himself for the moment with merely nibbling here and there along the shaft as his hands massaged Harry's firm arse cheeks. 

Harry swayed as he stood there. 

"Perhaps the bed," Severus gently suggested. 

"...wanted you on your knees," Harry groaned. 

Severus sensed then that there was more going on here than he'd realised at first. But that was all right, too. "I'll remain on my knees," he promised, trying not to let too much humour show through, though he was more than a bit amused by Harry's fledgling attempt at dominance. It was only normal for him to want to experiment, after all. Truth to tell, he felt a little bit relieved that Harry felt comfortable enough with him to act this way. Not that Severus was in any way inclined toward _submission_ , of course, but he liked the sense of give-and-take this represented. Besides, odd as this was, it was much, much better than that slavish persona Harry had presented a few weeks before. That had actually been disturbing. 

But now Severus felt confident that Harry would more than hold his own in the months and years to come. 

Those green eyes were suspicious now, but when Severus nudged him, Harry allowed himself to be pushed back against the bed and down onto it. Severus pulled Harry's knees back towards him until his young cock was in range, and _then_ , he began in earnest to wring every bit of pleasure he could from Harry's firm, young flesh. 

Up and down he moved along the shaft, his tongue swirling over the skin. 

Harry's hips bucked upward. Without the need to concentrate on staying upright, it seemed he could pour more energy and attention into getting his cock fully satisfied. 

And Severus did satisfy him, pulling him in deeply and massaging the length of that cock in a steady rhythm that soon had Harry rolling his hips. When Harry was about to come, Severus eased back, the better to savour the thick, creamy fluid that pulsed smoothly onto his tongue. 

"Mmm," he said again, swallowing every drop, licking the shaft still more until in a sudden burst of sensitivity, Harry half sat up and shoved him away, moaning _that's enough, now..._

Severus smiled up at the tousled young man. Harry had never even taken off his glasses. They now set askew on his flushed face. Severus was strongly tempted to laugh... _so eager he forgot about his glasses, for Merlin's sake... _but decided the humour wouldn't go over the way he intended. 

"Would you like to undress now?" he asked in as sober a tone as he could manage. "For a bath, perhaps?" 

Harry made a little huffing sound and did up his own trousers, his fingers lingering a bit on his own prick as though enjoying the memory of what Severus had done. That was nice. 

"No bath tonight. I don't think we need to practise that any longer." 

"All right," said Severus, thinking that at this point, it didn't much matter. The idea that he'd have trouble making Harry come, bath or no, seemed a bit ludicrous to him now. Which showed him how far they'd come. "Perhaps some wine, then?" 

"Uh.... yeah, all right," said Harry, nodding a little. "Might be good, in fact. The potion's going to make me sort of loopy, I think. I should try coming when I'm a little bit high, I guess." 

Severus supposed he could have summoned what he needed, but he liked the way Harry's gaze trained itself to his cock when he stood up, so he walked out of the room and carried the tray in by hand. 

Harry made a vague gesture with his hand. "It doesn't bother you to... um, walk around like that?" 

"Sans clothes?" Severus shrugged and used a spell to uncork the bottle. "No, not really." 

Blushing, Harry took the offered glass of wine. "I meant _hard_ , actually." 

"Ah." Harry hadn't said anything about kneeling again--though in the mood he was in, it wouldn't have surprised Severus--so he sat down on the bed alongside the young man and raised his glass in a wordless toast. Only after Harry had clinked their glasses together did Severus really reply. "Well, it's not the most comfortable sensation in the world, certainly, but I've no objection if you wish to look." 

"I _wasn't_ looking," Harry at once denied. 

"No?" 

Another blush, though less violent this time. "Well, maybe I was looking a little. It's still hard for me to believe you're so... um, huge there." 

"But it doesn't worry you now." 

"Some. Not like before...." Harry tasted his wine and smiled. "Oh, this one's pretty good." 

Severus would have classed it as _syrupy_ rather than _pretty good_ , but he supposed it was good that he was beginning to understand Harry's rather immature tastes. 

"So. Did you have any other... plans in mind for this evening?" 

Harry stared at him, his green eyes once more taking on that hard, glittering aspect. "Yeah, I did, as a matter of fact. You can get on your knees again later and do me again." 

Severus' own cock, still hard, jumped a little at that pronouncement, though he couldn't help but wonder if there might be some frottage involved at some point. "Anything else?" 

"Well I can't stay all night so I doubt I can get up to three," drawled Harry. "Though maybe I'll have you try." 

_Hmm, definitely a twinge of hostility in his tone that time,_ thought Severus, puzzled. He sipped at his wine to cover his confusion as he wondered where he'd gone wrong. Maybe it wasn't him at all, though. Harry had arrived here already angry, so perhaps he'd simply had a hard day, or was feeling the stress of knowing that tomorrow was the last day of the term. 

His final term at Hogwarts. 

And unlike his friends, he didn't have the world opening up to him as it should, didn't have the prospect of an Auror apprenticeship beckoning him now. All he had to look forward to was a life of servitude and slavery. 

When Severus thought about matters that way, he thought it rather remarkable that Harry had cooperated as well as he had. 

At any rate, he could certainly overlook one evening's bad mood. 

"Would you like a backrub?" 

"No, and stop leading," the young man snapped, tilting his head back to down the rest of his wine. 

Despite his thoughts of forbearance the moment before, a twinge of annoyance coursed through Severus then. It wasn't his fault, after all, that Harry wasn't going to get to live the sort of life he obviously wanted. As it was, he was going out of his way to make things as bearable as possible, and what thanks had he gotten? He could have taken advantage of this situation in any number of ways, and instead he'd let the young man be in charge, a young man who hardly knew which end was up when it came to bedroom matters, who apparently thought it was perfectly fine to put Severus on his knees time and again, with never a thought towards providing any relief for Severus' aching cock, which had been on full display this whole time-- 

" _Accio salveo_ ," said Harry, brandishing his wand. 

"I thought you didn't want a backrub!" Severus heard himself sniping. He wasn't inclined to offer one again, either, but the mood Harry was in, the young man would probably just demand one. 

"I don't. I want to make you scream." 

Well _that_ certainly took the froth out of Severus' cauldron. 

"Yeah, you heard me," Harry went on, carelessly tossing his wand aside. It rolled off the bed to clatter against the floor, and Severus had to force himself not to wince. "On your back then, and close your eyes. I don't want you watching me." 

That last command was actually quite difficult to obey; Severus wanted quite desperately to see this. Harry's brow furrowed in concentration, Harry's eyes shining in appreciation... 

Or perhaps they would just be narrowed in anger. 

So perhaps he didn't want to watch, after all. Perhaps it would be better to simply _feel_... 

Severus lay back and closed his eyes, trying not to sigh in pleasure when Harry's hands, already slick with salve, descended to his shoulders and worked their way down. 

"No holding back," Harry abruptly ordered. "You make me scream all the time. Or seems like, anyway. I want to hear what I can do to you." 

A rather intriguing wish, Severus thought, though he didn't know whether he could comply with it. He would try, but he was used to staying in control not just of his sexual encounters, but of himself, as well. 

He licked his lips when Harry's hands smoothed over his abdomen and grasped hold of his cock and began to massage its full length. Back and forth those hands slid, the pressure so delicious that Severus opened his mouth on a gasp. He'd had better hand jobs, of course. How could he not have? He'd had professionals work his cock until he forgot to breathe... 

But for all _this_ was unskilled, it was almost more intense, since these hands were ones that would touch him again and again. These hands belonged to a young man who couldn't leave him, not ever. Who couldn't be unfaithful, even. 

Harry was his, in every possible sense, and that made more of a difference than Severus could have imagined. He gasped again, the sound of it so breathy that it didn't seem like him at all, but Harry must have liked it, for he rubbed again the tight little bit of skin attached to the underside of Severus' cock, and said, "That's right. Let me hear you..." 

The hands on him became more urgent, then, a sign that Harry had felt himself becoming aroused from touching Severus. 

It was very suddenly too much for Severus to withstand. He groaned low in his throat as he felt a familiar heat shooting through his balls and out the end of his cock. 

Harry gave a slight yelp and let go of him as Severus pumped a steady stream onto himself. 

Propping himself up on his elbows, Severus opened his eyes. He'd had _much_ better hand jobs, especially considering the end, but he was strangely aware that he wouldn't exchange this one for those, not for anything. Maybe it had to do with the almost glazed way Harry was staring at him, now. 

But then the young man shook his head slightly and drawled in that same hostile tone as before, "I thought older men had a little more staying power than that." 

Severus felt entirely too _mellow_ to allow Harry's mood to bother him. "You're very exciting." 

"Oh." The young man's cheeks pinkened. "Hmm. But you didn't scream." 

"I don't, no." 

"Never?" 

A slow smile curled Severus' lips. "Perhaps with more practise you could make me. I look forward to your trying." Propping himself up further, he swept his gaze over Harry. The young man was fully dressed, but Severus still thought his trousers looked a tad tight through the crotch area. That was nice to see. 

The prostitutes who'd constituted the bulk of his sexual encounters in the past dozen years were consummate actors, but honest desire was something that couldn't be faked. Harry wasn't hard because he'd turned away to take a potion the moment he got his money. He wasn't even hard because his slavery would require it of him. 

He was aroused for no other reason save that he had found it arousing to touch Severus. 

Severus was surprised how... _warm_ that made him feel inside. 

"Perhaps you'd like my mouth again now?" he suggested, reaching for his wand on the night table so he might cast a quick cleaning spell. 

He was already starting to move off the bed when Harry's hand on his bare thigh stopped him. "Yes, but... I've changed my mind about the knees thing, I think. What about the way we were last night... so you could use your fingers as well?" The young man ducked his head. "That was...um, yeah. I liked that. A lot." 

_A lot_ , Severus thought with a chuckle, was quite the understatement, judging from the rapid way Harry shed his clothes. He didn't seem to be aware tonight that the lights were shining brightly. He was no doubt aware of Severus watching him, but he appeared to be at ease with that, at last. 

Harry arranged himself on the bed, legs slightly spread. 

He wasn't quaking with tension and nervousness this time, but neither was he what Severus would characterise as relaxed, either. The tension wasn't fear, though. It was pure anticipation. Severus cast another cleaning charm, this one a great deal more intimate, then laid his wand aside. 

Smiling again, Severus settled in, positioning himself between the young man's thighs. No need tonight to build up to this gradually and calm Harry's every worry. Now that they were more comfortable with one another, all he had to do was welcome that healthy young cock into his mouth, and the rest would follow like night trailing after day. 

" _Ahhhh,_ " Harry groaned, his fingers twisting in the coverlet as Severus' mouth began to tease him. " _Mmmm...._ " 

The salve was still near to hand, and as soon as Harry's moans began to fill the room, Severus made use of it. One finger at first, sliding between arse cheeks, working its way slowly toward the entrance to Harry's body. 

The young man parted his legs further, and angled his hips to draw that finger in. 

_Nice_ , Severus thought again. He pushed his finger through the slight resistance Harry's body offered, and then began to caress the inside of that channel, even as his mouth became more insistent and demanding of Harry's cock. When he found the young man's prostate, he touched it only lightly. Briefly, enjoying the way those most fleeting of touches could make Harry convulse and start to say things that didn't make much sense. They weren't whole words, even, though their meaning was plain enough. 

He built the intensity slowly up, working arse and cock in concert until Harry was the one who screamed. 

And again, there was nothing of artifice in it. No attempt to lure a well-paying customer back to his room, no angling after a tip or the promise of a recommendation to others who preferred to purchase their pleasures. 

There was only honest desire, or this time rather, honest culmination. 

Severus swallowed every luscious drop down, then moved straight up on the bed to curl behind Harry, pulling him onto his side and then back into an embrace. No need for a cleaning spell, he thought. The salve would sink into skin and tissue, leaving behind no residue at all. 

Harry yawned and pulled a pillow underneath his head. "Mmm, sleepy. That was nice, though..." 

His anger seemed to have burned itself out finally, Severus thought. For a while, he simply held Harry in his arms, allowing the young man to rest, but that couldn't last forever. They had things to discuss. 

"Come on, wake up," Severus urged him, shaking one shoulder until the young man stirred. 

"Hmm?" 

"We need to clarify your plans." 

" _Hmm?_ " 

Harry seemed to come awake at last. He shifted away from Severus and propped himself up on several pillows, then with a slight noise of irritation got _under_ the covers at last and propped himself up once more. "What plans? I've got one more week of freedom, not that I've been very free for a while here, and then we invoke. There's not a hell of a lot to plan, is there?" 

Severus got under the covers as well, sitting up cross-legged as he studied Harry's mutinous features. 

"Excepting Miss Granger, what have you told your friends about your intentions?" 

Harry shrugged. "Well, nothing, though after the N.E.W.T.s I think they all realised I had to ditch the only career plan I'd ever had." 

"They all presume, then, that you'll be taking the Express back to London?" 

Harry's eyes went thoughtful. "Oh, I see where you're heading. Well I haven't mentioned going with them or not, since I didn't know what to say. I mean, you don't want anyone to know I'm staying on at Hogwarts, do you?" 

"It's best to keep that completely secret until we have invoked, certainly," murmured Severus. "Therefore I think it advisable for you to take the Express with your friends. Let everyone believe you are leaving." 

The young man gave a sharp nod. "Yeah, all right. And when people ask what I plan to do next I'll say I'm still thinking things over?" 

"That will do." 

"So what do I do then, Apparate my way back here? That'd take a while, I hope you know. I'd need to do it in stages and rest in between them--" 

"You still have the Portkey I gave you when we Flooed to Norway?" 

Harry scowled. "Yeah." 

"You recall the keyspell?" 

" _Quidditch captain_. I'm not stupid, you know." 

"No, you're not," Severus agreed. "So I trust you recall that when you unfurl the handkerchief and say those words, the Portkey will take you to a safe house from which you can Floo back to my quarters." 

"All right, so I take the Express and pretend I'm leaving Hogwarts, then once I get to London--well, the minute the coast is clear, anyway--I use the Portkey and Floo right back here." Harry sighed. "Fine." 

It sounded to Severus like Harry believed it was far from _fine_ , but the young man had misunderstood the plan in any case. 

"Your uncle will be at the station to collect you as usual," he clarified. "Albus has arranged the matter." 

Harry stiffened, actually folding his arms in front of his chest. "I didn't think I'd be seeing him again. And anyway, won't the blood protection there be pretty meaningless next to _Podentes?_ " 

"It's for the sake of _Podentes_ that you must return home one final time, Harry. To see to the matter of your possessions. Anything of yours left in Surrey must be destroyed. Except bloodline assets, of course, but you assured me you had nothing of the sort from the Dursley family?" 

"Severus, not only do I not have any bloodline assets stowed away in Surrey, I don't have anything else, either!" Harry gave a low, bitter laugh. "When I left for school this last time, I took everything with me. And I mean everything, not that there was much to take. I even told Uncle Vernon he was finally quit of me. You see, I _expected_ that I'd leave school a fully-fledged wizard able to live out on his own--" 

"You are a fully fledged wizard able to live out on your own," Severus interrupted. "You are making a choice to bond yourself to me. It doesn't reflect on your abilities." 

"Yeah, whatever. The point is, there's nothing for me in Surrey." 

"I'd still prefer you verify that, since even something as innocuous as a toothbrush could ruin the invocation." 

Harry glared at him, but then he shrugged, clearly seeing the sense in that. "All right, fine. I'll make sure there's nothing left. So let's see, the Express takes all day and then there'll be the drive out to Surrey, then time to look around... I guess I could be back here by late Thursday night. Or would you rather I wait until Friday morning?" 

"Return to my quarters after dinner on Saturday." Severus nodded slightly. "You have been singularly focussed on the invocation for quite some time, now. I think a little span of time to step back from it will do you good." 

"You want me to spend three days in Surrey," Harry summarised, his voice dry. "I don't think that's a very good idea, Severus." 

"I know you have differences with your family--" 

"You don't know much if you think _differences_ covers it." 

Severus frowned. He couldn't help but think that Harry did need an extended break away from Hogwarts, and there was nowhere safer than the Dursley home. Besides, given that the Dursleys hadhelped Albus protect Harry, Severus found it difficult to believe they truly hated him. Harry was probably exaggerating how difficult it had been to live with them. Severus couldn't forget that Harry was only eighteen; he didn't have the perspective that came with decades of adult life. But Severus did, and he knew that Harry might regret it later if he didn't take this time now to say a proper good-bye. 

Not just to his family, either, but to his childhood friends and the place itself. To his entire way of life. Until now, Harry's life had bridged the Muggle and wizarding worlds, but from now on, he'd live and breathe only in the latter. 

Severus thought it right and good that Harry have a chance to see the world he was leaving one last time. But again, that was a sentiment that a person's Harry's age perhaps wouldn't appreciate, so Severus only asked, "Weren't you saying just last night that you wanted to go to Norway? By your own admission you need some time away from the castle before we invoke." 

"Listen, I'd rather go to hell than back to them--" Harry suddenly sighed. "But fine, I'll do it. I suppose if I have to go there to check for belongings anyway, it's not that big of a deal. So, Saturday after dinner, be back here. All right." 

"Good. Now, have you finished dealing with our other possessions, yet? The ones you have here with you at school?" 

"Well, you already have all my bloodline assets." Harry frowned. "Oh. You remember the broken mirror, the one I got from Sirius?" 

_He was hardly likely to forget._ "You don't like the usual kind." 

Now the young man was flushing slightly. Interesting. "Well I don't like Wizarding mirrors always yelling at me to comb my hair, that's true enough. Anyway, though, I might have put it on the wrong list." 

"Pardon?" 

Harry glanced away and fussed a bit with the coverlet lying across his chest. "I think of it as a present from Sirius. But actually it might have belonged to James before that, so..." 

"You haven't done something unutterably foolish such as give it away, have you?" When the young man shook his head, Severus smoothly continued, "Then I see no problem. Be sure to bring it to the invocation." 

Harry set his wineglass on the night table and shifted over, away from Severus. "All right. About my non-magical stuff, then. I thought giving it away would look awfully strange. I did give Hermione a few things..." Harry shrugged. "Most of it's utter crap. I thought I might just throw it all in the hearth and burn it once the other students weren't around to see, though I did plan to let Dobby have some..." The young man swallowed. "Um, jumpers." 

"Are you certain there is nothing else you should be sure to give into my keeping for the invocation?" Severus paused, not liking the question he had to ask, but Harry's earlier comments had brought it to mind. "Black, Harry. Did he give you nothing else?" 

"A knife for Christmas." Harry smiled in remembrance. "It would count as magical, I'm sure. It could open any lock and undo any knot, until the blade melted off, that is..." His smile died as suddenly as it had come. "It wasn't my father's, though. Too bad. If it _was_ , maybe you'd go tell Malfoy to give what's left of it back. The little arse stole it from me last year." 

Severus raised an eyebrow. "If you could summon your Firebolt from the castle all the way down to the First Task, I would think it a simple matter to retrieve any of your possessions." 

Harry scoffed. "How do you think I know it was Malfoy? My Summoning Charms work just fine on everything but that knife. My guess is he used some sort of dark magic to glue it down. Either that or he destroyed it just to spite me." 

"This is all a guess, however?" 

"Are you going to do something about it if it's not?" 

"No." 

"It's just a guess," Harry said, sighing. "But I know I'm right. Anyway, I have the possessions thing all figured out. I'll bring down the magical stuff... um, tomorrow? I mean, Hedwig can stay in the Owlery but I can't just leave my Firebolt leaning against the wall in my dormitory. Ron would notice. If he doesn't see it he'll think I have it in my trunk. Or did you want me to take it away with me and then back?" 

"Take it away with you so that everything will appear as expected. Should one of your friends delve into your trunk for some oddment or other..." 

"Yeah, it has to look like I'm really leaving." Harry sighed again. "All right." 

"About tomorrow, however. There is a party in the Tower, is there not?" 

"Yeah, but I figured already you'd make me skip it--" 

"On the contrary, I insist you attend." 

To Severus' amusement, the young man's mouth dropped open. "But we have to practise. The invocation's more important than any party!" 

"I think more practise at this point would not increase our chances for a successful invocation." Severus raised an eyebrow. "Or do you still believe you might have trouble climaxing to my touch?" 

"Well, no..." 

"Exactly. Now, you have been making excuses for your absences for many weeks, but this is one occasion when I think your friends--excepting Miss Granger, of course--will insist on knowing where you are. If you do not attend the festivities they may hunt you down. And while I doubt they will think to look here, it is still better to allay all suspicion. Furthermore, you need this last evening with them, do you not?" 

"I guess so, since you said I'd never see them again," Harry morosely replied. 

Severus frowned. "I'm quite certain I never said anything like that to you." 

"Ha," replied Harry. "I said I hardly ever got to see my friends, and you said I had to get used to it because soon I wouldn't see them at all." 

"Ah yes, I remember." Severus cleared his throat. "I meant merely that they would be leaving the castle and taking up jobs and other responsibilities. I didn't mean I intended to forbid you all contact. It's not lost on me that you have social needs, Harry." 

"Hardly matters," said Harry, grabbing a pillow out from behind him and punching it several times. "I wouldn't want them knowing... well, Hermione knows already. Can I have her visit sometimes?" 

Severus forced himself not to grimace. He knew he shouldn't resent Harry's friendship with the girl, especially considering that the two were most definitely not lovers. He did resent it, though. "I'm certain something can be arranged." 

Harry, he noticed, was staring at him now. "What happened to _no promises,_ eh?" 

"That was perhaps an overreaction on my part," Severus admitted, smiling a bit ruefully. "It hearkens back to before I had realised that _lovers_ itself implies a certain kind of faith predicated on mutual expectations." 

"Just say, _I was wrong,_ Severus," Harry advised, shaking his head. 

Severus shrugged. "Very well, I was wrong. Harry... your life will be as full and meaningful as possible, in the circumstances. I do not mind promising that. It is the sort of thing you should be able to have faith in, if indeed I am your lover." 

Harry looked down at his own ragged fingernails. "But I'll still be your slave." 

"Yes. But I will not mistreat you in any way." 

"Yeah, well I know you don't intend to, which is something, I suppose, but _Podentes_ is dark..." Harry glanced up then. "But never mind. It doesn't matter. It is what it is." 

Getting off the bed, Harry quickly dressed himself, his every moment strung with tension. Only when he was ready to go did he speak again. "So I'll see you again on Saturday, I guess." 

Severus held up a hand to delay the young man's departure. "You do understand that it's best if you continue to refrain from pleasuring yourself?" 

Harry shifted on his feet. "I hadn't thought about it. But you want to make sure I come back... um, ready for more, I guess." 

"Actually I think it highly advisable for us to wait for the seventeenth at this point. You were correct before. While the Dragon's Happy may enhance sensations for you and make the invocation very pleasurable indeed, it may also make culmination more difficult. This is speculation on my part, but seeing as you must climax three times, _and_ while bound--" 

" _Don't_ start saying we have to practise _that_ ," Harry suddenly erupted. "Because I don't have a... a... look, I'll do it for the invocation but I personally find it _very_ off-putting, the idea of being tied up while you touch me." 

"Precisely why you should abstain for a full week." 

Harry gave him what Severus could only regard as a suspicious look. "Well, all right. I think you know I wouldn't do anything to endanger the invocation." 

"Yes. I do know that." 

Their eyes met for a brief moment, something flashing between them. Understanding, perhaps. 

But it was over as soon as it had begun, and Harry turned away to leave.


	37. Chapter 37

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Thursday, June 11, 1998 ---- 11:15 a.m.**

Harry was staring out the window at the rolling Scottish countryside when Ron slid the compartment door open with a bang. 

"There you are," he said in a tone that implied Harry had been attempting to hide. 

"Yeah, here I am," Harry returned as amiably as he could, considering his best friend was scowling at him. Harry was in no doubt as to the cause of Ron's mood, of course. The end-of-term party in Gryffindor Tower hadn't gone well, not at all. Ron had drunk a little bit too much of the spiked punch, to start with, and had tried to press it on Harry. 

Ron hadn't been amused when Harry had taken one sip and said it tasted awful. Turned out _he_ had picked the liquor. Harry wouldn't have said anything if he'd known. But the truth was that it _had_ been awful compared to the nice wines he'd enjoyed lately with Snape. 

The liquor thing, though, that was nothing. Easily laughed off, which is what Ron and Harry had basically done. 

But then Ginny had come down to the common room. 

Ginny, who'd loved him--and made no secret of the fact--since her very first year at Hogwarts. Harry had never felt the same, had never even felt remotely interested in her. He'd watched her snog Dean Thomas all through his sixth year, and his only reaction had been a sort of vague happiness that she'd found someone else. Maybe, he'd thought, she'd stop pining now, stop giving him those looks that made it seem as though she must have something in her eye, she was blinking so much. And then she'd broken it off with Dean and Harry had known to steer clear of her, especially after Quidditch matches, when she tended to get a little more... exuberant than Harry was comfortable with. She'd almost kissed him several times, but he'd managed to slip free in time. 

And while it _was_ true that he'd thought of Ginny when he'd wanted to quickly lose his virginity--ha, so that _Snape_ wouldn't be the one to get it--she'd only come to mind because Harry was positive she'd have agreed on the spot to sleep with him. He'd never actually _wanted_ her that way, though under the stress of knowing he only had one night... yeah, he'd thought he could have managed all right. 

Except, he couldn't have, and not just because Snape had refused to give him one more night, or because deep down he'd known it wouldn't be fair to Ginny. 

He knew now that something much more basic would have kept him from sleeping with Ginny Weasley. 

He'd found that out the night before, at the blasted party. Looking back, it would have been better all around to make some excuse to skip it, even if he ended up offending his friends. Because by going, he'd offended them anyway. Well, everyone but Hermione, who understood both what he'd said to Ginny and what he hadn't. 

Nobody else understood at all. 

And Ron was obviously still fuming over it. 

But what was Harry supposed to have done when Ginny came flying down the stairs and _threw_ herself into Harry's arms and began kissing him like he was her very own personal Prince Charming? 

For a moment he'd been so completely stunned that he hadn't said or done anything. He'd just sort of let her snog him. 

Then he'd realised several things all at once. She felt... well, wrong. 

Wrong in every way. Her lips were too soft, her hair too coarse. And so _long_ he felt almost tangled in it. He wanted silky fine strands just long enough that the ends brushed his shoulders when he was in an embrace. And speaking of embracing, he wanted strong arms holding him against a muscled chest, not this softness all around. 

He wanted the clean scent that was Snape himself. 

Instead, he'd found himself almost choking on the clouds of perfume that wafted all around Ginny. 

Harry hadn't had time to think it all through right then when the kiss was happening; all he'd known was that he wasn't enjoying himself much at all. Fifteen minutes alone in the train compartment though, had given him a chance to figure some things out. 

Fifteen minutes, and Harry had learned more, in a sense, than he'd realised in weeks and weeks with Snape. He liked dark hair and black eyes. He _really_ liked them. Ginny's red hair was nice, he supposed; it wasn't as though she was ugly. And of course he really did like her as a person, but he didn't find her all that attractive. 

Maybe he would have, if _Cambiare Podentes_ hadn't come along. But it had come along, and he'd spent all that time with Snape. When he thought about it that way, he could almost understand the confused feelings knotting in his belly. Yeah, it was just all the time they'd had to spend together. It was the fact that he'd had to kiss Snape so many times. He'd just gotten used to how Snape looked, and how he felt when they were pressed close together. 

If he liked Snape better _that_ way, it was because of what the man himself had said a while back. _We've been forced into this way of relating that has consequences of its own,_ something like that. 

Of course, it might be true that he'd always liked black hair, Harry supposed. Look at Cho, for example. And when Cho had already had a date for the Yule Ball, he'd taken Parvati instead. So maybe it wasn't such a surprise that he liked Snape's hair as much as he did. 

And besides, with Snape the sex was really good, and it looked as though he'd be getting plenty of it, something that any normal eighteen-year-old would appreciate. Harry had only lately started to appreciate it, but of course it had taken him a while to realise that Severus intended for things between them to be good for Harry as well. But now that he did understand that, it was no wonder this kiss here couldn't move him much at all. Ginny just didn't know how to kiss very well. She'd mashed their lips together and was shoving her tongue inside like there was no tomorrow. 

It was nothing like it was with Severus, who knew how to take his time and _seduce_ Harry into wanting not just a kiss, but far, far more. 

Something hard and large lodged itself in his stomach, then, shaking inside him as the train rumbled over the tracks. _A man._ _He's a man, for God's sake. But there's no mistaking the fact that I'd rather kiss Severus than Ginny. I'd rather be holding him than her._

Harry swallowed hard at the logical implications that suddenly swamped over him. He felt as though he couldn't breathe, his thoughts all coming in a panic. How could he prefer a man like that? 

But there was no doubt that he did. 

He hadn't really known that at the time, of course. He'd only known that the kiss was a mistake. _Yeah, I don't want her because of the spell_ _coming up so soon,_ Harry had told himself as Ginny crushed herself against him. _I can't go around kissing girls._

In the next moment, he'd extricated himself from Ginny as gently as he could, though with the way she was clinging to him... Harry frowned remembering it. He'd had to push at her a bit, which had been where the trouble had started. 

"Hey!" Ron had objected. "Careful there, Harry!" 

Ginny had stumbled, then righted herself and thrown herself right back into Harry's arms. Or tried, rather. Harry stepped back quickly, trying to avoid a scene, but Ginny just kept coming at him, until he was backed up against a wall and he had to hold his arms out to keep her at bay. 

"Harry, it's a party," Ginny had said in a sing-song voice. "It's your last night at Hogwarts! Come on, one kiss. I've waited forever for you to notice me and you're not getting away, not this time! Come on now, pucker up--" 

Ron wasn't the only Weasley who'd smuggled liquor into Gryffindor Tower, Harry suddenly suspected. Strange that he hadn't tasted it on her, but he'd felt so smothered by her clumsy eagerness that it must have slipped him by. Or maybe her thick floral perfume had kept him from noticing. 

"Ginny," Harry quietly said, his hands on her shoulders keeping her lips a good distance from his. "No, Ginny." 

"Oh, forget her, Harry!" Ginny had urged, twisting her shoulders. "I heard she threw you over. Well more fool her. I don't care if you're on the rebound--" 

"No," Harry had said, shaking his head. 

But she just kept _on_ about how she'd always known they were fated, which had reminded Harry--as if he needed reminding--that _he_ was fated all right, to be with Severus, not her. And what had Severus said? _If you are sharing your body with anyone but me in the weeks preceding the invocation..._

His mouth wasn't exactly his _body_ in the sense Severus had meant, but the principle was the same. 

"Just one," she was saying by then. "Oh, come _on,_ Harry, what's the harm in one kiss--" 

"Ginny, I don't like you that way!" Harry had interrupted, desperate to put an end to this. All her talk of kissing only brought Snape to mind. Well, who else would he think of? When it came to passionate kisses, he'd _only_ kissed Snape. And he didn't want to be thinking about Snape on his last night at Hogwarts. He wanted to enjoy the party, and forget for a while that he was going to be the man's catamite. But Ginny just kept on until finally, Harry had had enough. "I'll never like you that way! Give it _up,_ all right? Find someone who's attracted to you, for God's sake!" 

The Gryffindor common room had been shocked into silence. It wasn't like Harry to raise his voice, and certainly not to say things like that. 

Ginny had flung a hand across her mouth, wrenched herself away from Harry, and burst into tears as she ran across the room and back up the stairs to her dormitory. Ron had advanced on Harry, his lips twisted into a scowl. "What's wrong with you? It's a party, Harry! And she's afraid she'll hardly ever see you again!" 

Lavender had huffed a little and flung her hair over her shoulder. "A _kiss_ , Harry. She's only waited six years! We don't know who your secret girl is, but for Merlin's sake, you need to get over her! Or maybe you need to get over yourself!" With that, she had run up the stairs after Ginny. 

Ron was practically in Harry's face by then. "If you didn't want to kiss her, fine. But did you have to humiliate her in front of everyone, Harry? You'll be gone tomorrow but _she_ has another year of school to get through!" 

"I tried to tell her _no_ nicely--" 

"Not much you didn't!" 

Hermione had appeared by Ron's side, then. She'd taken Ron's hand in her own, her eyes all sympathy when she looked at Harry. But what she had said was, "Ginny doesn't need you fighting her battles for her, Ron." 

"Yeah, but Harry--" 

" _We'll_ be gone tomorrow but she has another year here," Hermione had said in an undertone. "What Harry did was awful but you're just making it worse, acting like she needs her brother stepping in like this." 

"Yeah, all right," Ron had grumbled, glaring once more at Harry as he'd turned away. 

Hermione had apologized with her eyes before guiding Ron over to the opposite end of the common room. 

But Ron never really had stopped glaring, all through the rest of the party. 

As far as Harry was concerned, it had been the worst party ever. And this was looking to be the worst trip home, since Ron apparently hadn't gotten himself glared out the night before. He was doing it again, plunking himself down in the seat opposite Harry, scowling as though Harry had stabbed somebody instead of merely refusing a kiss. 

"Seen Ginny today, have you?" 

Harry shook his head. "Listen, Ron, I didn't mean to yell those things last night. It just all got... out of hand." 

"What's wrong with Ginny, that's what I'd like to know," Ron said fiercely. "You're too good for us, you with your mountains of gold and a name that'll get you onto any Quidditch team you like when better players have to wait in the wings?" 

"That's not it," Harry said, feeling exhausted. "Anyway, I'd have thought you'd be objecting to me with Ginny, not egging us on! You don't really want your best friend snogging your sister, do you?" 

"Yeah, I would!" Ron crossed his arms. "Because if it all worked out right, you'd be in the family! And Mum would add a Harry hand to the clock! We'd all love it, you prat!" 

"I thought I already was a part of your family." 

Harry thought his quiet answer was probably what made Ron stop yelling. "You are, but... oh, hell. Don't you know we're all worried we won't see enough of you from now on?" 

Harry was worried about that too. More than Ron could know, and certainly, more than he could mention. "Look, Ron. I'd love it if I could be interested in Ginny that way, but I just can't. And I tried to tell her that but she ended up pushing me into a corner. Literally. What was I supposed to do?" 

Ron twisted his lips. "Just kiss her once, how about? It wouldn't have killed you." 

_Yeah, it just might have,_ Harry wanted to say. _What if I'd kissed her properly and then at the invocation, the spell had thought I wasn't committed to Severus? What if Cambiare Podentes had failed and I ended up dead on my birthday? _

"I couldn't kiss her when I knew there'd never be any future in it," Harry quietly said. "I like Ginny a lot. As a friend. And that's just not how I want to treat a friend, not even if she _thinks_ one kiss would make her happy." 

By then, Ron was peering at him critically, making Harry wonder if he'd said too much. But Ron's thoughts had gone in another direction. "Oh... it's You-Know-Who, isn't it? You're worried that he'll come after anybody you care about!" 

Talk about temptation. If he told Ron that, it would clear everything between them right up. No brother could resent Harry wanting to keep his sister safe. But such a story would give Ginny false hope. That wouldn't do. 

"It's not that," Harry sighed. "She's just not the one for me." 

"This girl you've been seeing the past few weeks... is _she?_ " 

Harry shrugged, unwilling to think about that. So he found Severus attractive. More attractive than a girl. Maybe that was why he'd got quite so drunk the night before. He probably hadn't wanted to think too much about just why he'd found Ginny's kiss so wanting. It was one thing to like the sex, and look forward to it, even. But to want Severus' arms around him _instead_ of Ginny's? Even though Severus was a man? Several cups of spiked punch had helped him ignore what had just happened and what it might mean. 

Now he was thinking about it again though, and he didn't have any spiked punch to get his mind off it. In the light of day though, things didn't seem quite so dramatic, anyway. He probably just liked Severus that way because the man hadn't been lying when he'd bragged about knowing how to give pleasure. He _did_ know a lot about that, and now Harry's body was sort of attuned to _taking_ pleasure from him. Ginny just didn't have the... _technique_ Snape had, and even if she had, it wouldn't be the technique Harry had got used to, right? Snape had said that Harry needed to get accustomed to him. And that's exactly what had happened. 

It wasn't like Harry found men attractive in general. It wasn't even as though he thought Snape was exactly handsome. He just liked dark hair, that was all, and Snape happened to have some. 

So that all sorted well. 

Besides, what was wrong with being drawn to doing physical things with Severus? Harry had to do them anyway. Lots, if he was ever going to strengthen the _Podentes_ bond so they could cross their powers. There wasn't much point in being miserable just for the sake of it. Hermione had been right; he _had_ been doing that before. 

But what was, _was._ And that included finding Severus attractive, Harry sternly told himself. He wasn't to blame for it. Circumstances had been lined up against him. 

"She didn't work out," he said to Ron. "But that doesn't make me inclined to date Ginny." 

"She's still crying, you know." 

No, Harry didn't know. He'd rather not have known, in fact. "I'm sorry." 

"Oh, I don't guess it's your fault really, though you might have managed not to shove her, you know." 

Harry didn't think Ginny was as frail as Ron seemed to believe, but that hardly mattered past the chance to patch things up. He knew enough to appreciate an olive branch when one was offered. "Yeah, I'll watch it. All right." 

Ron smiled, a little bit sadly, and tossed him a chocolate frog. 

"Dumbledore," Harry said when he saw the card that came with it. 

"Like that first card you ever got." Ron unwrapped his own frog and deftly caught it. "Well, end of an era, isn't it then? You know, there were times when I felt like I'd _never_ get out of Hogwarts. Bet you know the feeling too, eh?" 

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Sighing, Harry turned to look out the window again, taking a last, long look at the wide open spaces that all too soon, he'd never see again. 

  
  
  
  


**Thursday, June 11, 1998 ---- 6:40 p.m.**

Uncle Vernon came alone to collect him, standing glowering as Harry said his good-byes to his friends. 

Harry hadn't felt like talking much on the journey, not even after Dean, Neville, and Hermione had come into the compartment Ron and he were sharing. It had just all seemed too painful. Even listening to the excited chatter surrounding him was painful. Everyone else was moving on with life. Happy talk of jobs and apprenticeships and romantic prospects... Harry felt locked away from all of it. When pressed, he said he didn't know yet what he was going to do, which was true enough. 

Severus hadn't told him, so he _couldn't_ know. Though he thought he had a fair idea. Thank goodness it wouldn't involve potions. But probably Severus would want to train him to face Vold... _the Dark Lord._ Ugh. 

So, most likely he'd be studying Defence night and day. Maybe even Offence. Probably there'd be a lot of reading involved, and then at night Severus would work with him on practical skills. And since he couldn't really study _all_ the time, he figured Severus would probably want him to do other things as well during the day. Exactly what, Harry couldn't imagine. With house-elves to cook and clean it didn't seem too likely that Severus would want him for a servant, but on the other hand he _was_ going to be a slave, so it wasn't up to him, was it? 

It was a good thing, Harry decided, that Hermione was in the compartment by then. She steered the conversation away from Harry, and got everybody talking about who Dumbledore might recruit to fill the Defence position for the coming year. They'd still never had a teacher last more than a year, though popular opinion in the compartment was that if Dumbledore would hire Remus Lupin again, and brave the flurry of Howlers objecting to the appointment of a werewolf, then _he_ would surely last longer than a year. 

Harry knew that wasn't really an option, though. He wasn't sure quite what Remus was doing, but he understood enough to know it was important Order business. He hadn't seen Remus in months and didn't expect to ever see him again, actually. Well, at least Severus might let Hermione come around on occasion. Harry told himself to be grateful for what he could get. 

On the platform now, saying good-bye, he wished he hadn't been so sullen and quiet during the journey. It had probably been his last chance ever to talk to most of these people. So he chattered on, trying to cram in as much as he could before Uncle Vernon lost patience and dragged him away. 

His uncle, as it turned out, had less patience than ever. "Come on, you," he rumbled as he grabbed hold of Harry's upper arm. "That's enough now. Your aunt's waiting in the car, so come along!" 

Harry hurriedly told his friends he'd owl before it occurred to him that he might not be able to. But by then, it was too late to call the words back. He gave a feeble little wave as his uncle yanked his arm. 

"Where's that infernal trunk of yours?" asked Vernon as he half-dragged Harry along the platform. His piggy little eyes kept darting from side to side as though he was expecting a delegation headed by Mad-Eye Moody to leap out from behind a column. "And why isn't your broomstick inside it? You think I want everyone to see you carrying _that?_ " 

Harry wrenched his arm free, then dragged in a deep breath to keep from yelling as he patted his trouser pocket. "I shrank my trunk, Uncle Vernon. But that's kind of hard on my Firebolt so I thought I'd just carry it." 

Vernon growled in answer and crossed his fat arms as he stomped along, muttering something about _all manner of unnaturalness._

Irked by that, Harry diffidently offered, "I can cast a concealment charm on it if you like--" 

"Shut up, boy!" bellowed his uncle. "And don't you make any suggestions for more _freakishness!_ " 

Harry personally thought that if you were worried people might know your nephew was a _freak_ , then screaming about it in public was pretty strange behaviour. Probably he shouldn't have provoked the man, though, so he managed to hold in a few other choice comments that crossed his mind. 

They made their way out of the station in absolute silence. Harry didn't talk again until they were at the late-model car Uncle Vernon was so proud of, and then it was only to exclaim in surprise, "I thought you said Aunt Petunia was--" 

"Oh, for God's sake," erupted Vernon as he yanked his car keys from his pocket. "You came out of that freak school as dumb as you went in! Why would she come along? You think she's so eager to see you? I said that so we could get away from _them_." 

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from replying. He didn't really think he owed the Dursleys anything for raising him--he'd pulled his own weight and more in that house--but neither did he want to fight. He just wanted to make sure there weren't any stray belongings of his in Surrey, and after that, figure out how to get through the rest of the "visit" Severus had insisted upon. 

Vernon squished himself behind the wheel, then leaned over to unlock Harry's door almost as an afterthought. He scowled when Harry carefully settled his broomstick in before climbing in himself, then began reversing the car before Harry had even managed to shut his door. Harry reached out and quickly slammed it, then shoved a hand into his trouser pocket and gripped his wand. He was a fully licensed wizard now; he didn't have to put up with any shite. _And_ he didn't need the blood wards now, not like he'd always needed them before. He didn't have to retain the good will of his family so they'd let him come back summer after summer. This was the end, and while Harry didn't particularly want everything to end badly, he wasn't going to let himself get hit again. 

Not this summer. 

"So we didn't think you'd be back, boy," Vernon growled as he manoeuvred the large car through the parking lot of King's Cross Station. "Isn't that what you said when you left last? We'd never have to see you again?" 

"Yeah, well I thought you wouldn't have to. Things are a little more complicated than I expected." Harry sighed, wondering for a moment what it would be like to have a family he could talk to. If Ron or Hermione had ended up stuck with a need to invoke a slavery bond, the first thing they'd have done would have been to talk to their parents. Harry didn't think of the Dursleys as his parents, of course; they'd never once treated him like a son. But still, it would have been nice to not be so alone in the world. 

On the other hand, since he knew full well what his uncle thought of _nancy-boys_ , as he liked to call them, Harry couldn't imagine ever telling him that he'd found himself having to become sexually involved with another man. 

So yeah, just as well the Dursleys hated him. This way he wasn't even tempted to unburden his soul. 

It made him very glad to have had Hermione at least, though. 

"So what did the headmaster say when he asked you to meet me at the station?" Harry wondered out loud. 

Vernon grumbled for a moment before he answered. "Few days, that's about all he said. Take the boy in for a few more days." His uncle turned to pin him with a glare. "And mind you, we wouldn't have agreed if not for the fact that normal people don't much like getting exploding letters." 

"He sent you another one?" 

"No, but we know _his_ type. Letter he did send was polite as you please. Next one would've blown up in our faces, most likely!" 

Harry didn't know what to say to that. The truth was, Albus Dumbledore was more than capable of sending the Dursleys a Howler, so after a moment he nodded. 

Vernon tapped his fat fingers on the steering wheel as he waited for the light to change. "Mind, we weren't expecting to have to put up with you again, so it's not as though we're set up for it any longer." 

"Dudley has two bedrooms again and I have none," Harry surmised, though he thought it was high time his cousin had none. When was Dudley going to support himself, for heaven's sake? 

"You can just wipe that expression off your face, boy!" barked Vernon as he glared straight ahead at the red light. "We took you in when no-one else would have, and well you know it! And it's not as though we begrudged you a room! You had a perfectly good one all along, which is more than you deserved seeing as we never wanted the likes of _you_ anyway!" 

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," said Harry, determinedly looking out the window. He wished the car would start to move. That way at least his uncle would have traffic to occupy his mind. 

"And we didn't switch the room back to being Dudder's second bedroom anyway," Vernon went on to announce in a voice only marginally less hostile. "Your aunt needed a sewing room. We cleaned it out from top to bottom and chucked out all _your_ stuff. Did us some good, it did. We even went and scrubbed out your old cupboard just to erase any... _taint_ you might have left. And for what, I ask you? Here you come slinking back to foul the place again!" 

"You threw away all my stuff?" 

Vernon nodded, the motion smug. "It all went straight to the rubbish tip, and I'll not hear any nonsense about it, is that clear, boy? You told us you'd not be back--" 

"But what stuff _was_ there?" Harry had to ask. 

"Papers and such, old books and toys Dudley had been good enough to share with you--" 

_That Harry had salvaged from what Dudley had thrown away,_ Harry mentally corrected. 

"--and some pencil stubs, things like that," Vernon finished. 

Harry wouldn't really have considered any of those things _his possessions_ , but if the Dursleys had disposed of all of it already, then he truly had no reason to continue on to the house on Privet Drive. Still... "You're sure you threw it all away? Every last scrap?" 

Vernon threw him a look that was vicious in satisfaction, his fat jowls jiggling. "Boy, we even took up the carpet in your old room, and Petunia used her steam cleaner in there and in the cupboard. There's _nothing_ of yours in our house. We don't want you there, not even by way of the smallest reminder." 

If Vernon had hoped to annoy him, Harry thought, he was destined to be sorely disappointed. Harry couldn't be more delighted. "Well then," he drawled as one hand reached out to grab hold of his Firebolt, "I guess this is good-bye." 

Vernon's vast brow wrinkled. "What?" 

"I don't think I'll be returning to Surrey after all," Harry calmly announced. "This time I mean it, Uncle Vernon. You never _will_ have to lay eyes on me again. I'd ask you to say good-bye to Aunt Petunia and Dudley for me, but I somehow doubt they'd care either way. So... yep, that's it. I'll be going now." 

Harry knew the considerate thing to do would be to open the car door and leave the Muggle way. But he wasn't feeling very charitable, not after he'd just been likened to an infestation. 

So he closed his eyes, and summoned his magic, and forced himself through a narrow tube that ended on the sidewalk just a few feet away. 

Bending down, he waved his hand a little, grinning at the spectacle of his Uncle's outraged face. Vernon's hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly it looked like he might snap it. His neck turned the colour of brick as he glared at Harry and mouthed something. Harry couldn't tell what it was. _Good riddance_ , maybe. Probably not though. It looked a lot more profane, at least to Harry. 

Harry grinned again and wiggled his fingers as he waved. 

Then the light changed, and Vernon slammed his foot down on the accelerator. With a squeal of tires he sped off, leaving Harry behind in London. 

  
  
  
  


**Thursday, June 11, 1998 ---- 6:55 p.m.**

Harry wasn't worried. Three days in Surrey had sounded like a stint in hell, but three days in London struck him as nothing short of marvellous. He'd never really had much of a chance to gad about on his own before, unless he counted the time he'd spent living in the Leaky Cauldron and exploring Diagon Alley. That had been great while it had lasted, but he was an adult now, and one hurried trip out of Diagon Alley so he could go to Marks and Spencer just wasn't enough to satisfy this feeling swamping him now. 

_Independence..._

It was within reach, at least for a short time. 

Harry licked his hand and slicked his fringe down over his forehead, then quickly drew his wand and cast a concealment charm on his broom. He glanced around several times, but people were going about their business and paying him very little mind, so he thought he'd got away with it. 

Grinning again, Harry set off with a bounce in his step. He didn't know much about London, and he knew even less about being a traveller, but he did know enough to get by. He'd find a hotel for the night, and then he'd hunt up somewhere to eat, and on the way, he'd try to get some sort of guide for tourists. He had tonight, and all day tomorrow, and most of Saturday to enjoy himself. 

Harry planned to make the most of it. 

  
  
  
  


**Thursday, June 11, 1998 ---- 7:15 p.m.**

Harry thought better than to pick a hotel anywhere near King's Cross Station. It wasn't too likely that any wizards would end up on the sidewalk in the throng of milling Muggles, but just in case one did, Harry decided he'd rather hang his hat--so to speak--somewhere else. And for that matter, he'd much rather not be recognised even if he was seen. 

He ducked into a pub and headed for the loo, then once he was alone he used some of the human transfiguration they'd learned sixth year to change his appearance. He knew from experience that if he ended up with blond hair he'd do a double-take every time he passed a reflective surface. Since calling attention to himself in any way sounded like a bad idea, Harry settled for changing his hair to a darkish sandy brown. His eyes became a similar colour, and then he worked a bit on his facial bone structure. Higher cheekbones and a narrower chin, and soon he didn't look anything like himself, except for that scar on his forehead. A sticking spell made sure his fringe would stay well-flattened down over it, though, and his newly-transfigured rectangular glasses also helped him look unlike himself. 

Once Harry was satisfied that nobody could possibly recognise him, he fished his tiny trunk out of his pocket and opened it, then summoned his even tinier wallet from inside. When Harry enlarged his wallet and counted the Muggle money inside it, he was surprised he'd had so much left over from that long-ago trip to Marks and Spencer. He'd told himself at the time that there was no point changing it back to Galleons since it might come in handy someday. _Good thinking, Harry,_ he mentally congratulated himself as he performed a rather complicated transfiguration to turn his trunk blue and narrow with rounded corners before enlarging it. The end result was enough like a Muggle suitcase that he thought it would do. 

This blending-in business really was a lot of bother, Harry thought as he headed back out onto Euston Road to hire a taxi. 

"Where to, mate?" 

Harry quickly decided he'd rather not let anybody--even a Muggle taxi driver--know his exact destination, so he thought better than to ask for a hotel recommendation. It should be easy enough to find one on his own. Near another train station, perhaps. 

"Victoria Station," he announced. It was either that or Paddington, as he couldn't name any others off hand. 

The taxi driver had him there in no time at all, it seemed, and Harry alighted onto the sidewalk and walked straight into the station, losing himself in the crowd. Only after the taxi had sped off did he head down the street to see what sort of lodging he might find. 

As expected, there were loads of small hotels lining the streets around Victoria station, many with their prices hanging in the front windows. Even better, rooms seemed to be cheap enough that he could afford a night without dipping into the wizarding money he had with him. Still, he thought a trip to Gringotts to exchange it all should be the first thing he should see to when morning came. 

Might as well, right? Severus had told him that those Galleons he already had out of his vault had to be spent on rational purchases or handed over at the invocation. Well, what could be more rational than shelter and food and entertainment during this stint in London? Sort of like a present to himself for finishing school despite all that had stood in his way year after year. 

Or maybe a consolation prize, something to make up for the fact that all too soon, he had to bind himself into slavery to Severus. Never mind that it looked like Severus was going to try to be reasonable about the whole thing, and try to meet Harry's needs and all that. Harry was still going to be a _slave_. Despite all his efforts to accept his fate, the prospect still filled him with an feeling of dread. The idea of being locked away, of living in hiding, of never being able to go _anywhere_... 

Harry didn't know how he was going to stand it. 

But at least he had this last gasp of freedom, he thought as he walked up the concrete steps of a simple hotel advertising rooms for thirty-eight pounds a night. He'd do his level best to enjoy this brief span of time... the only chance he'd ever have to be a responsible adult out on his own. And maybe this break from all the stress he'd lived with lately... maybe it would help him accept his fate. 

Maybe, this holiday of sorts was just what he needed to arrive at the invocation relaxed and able to truly face the prospect of binding himself into irrevocable slavery. 

So, Harry decided, no more gloom-and-doom. He was going to have a good time exploring London on his own, and he wasn't going to think about what was waiting for him back at Hogwarts. Pushing open the narrow door to the hotel, he planted himself at the reception desk and tapped the little brass bell. 

"Hallo," he greeted the wizened old man who came to help him. "I'd like a room for three nights." 

Of course he knew he'd only sleep in the hotel for two of those three nights, but he'd noticed the sign that said check-out time was eleven a.m. He wanted a place where he could leave his things until after dinner on Saturday, and he didn't want to risk leaving his concealed Firebolt in any luggage check or the like. Far better to just rent the room for longer, especially considering he had plenty of Galleons to work through. 

No, no credit card." Harry shook his head in answer to the clerk's question. "I've just finished school and haven't had a chance to arrange one, but I'll pay cash in advance for tonight and then go to the bank in the morning to get you the rest. Will that do?" 

He filled out the little form the clerk passed him, feeling _so_ grown-up he could hardly bear it. Funny he hadn't _thought_ of going off on his own when Severus had first suggested he take some time away from Hogwarts. But then again, planning wasn't really Harry's strong suit. He'd learned to roll with the punches and react to his life as it came. 

The clerk squinted at the filled-out form, then fished a key off the rack hanging behind him. "Number 22," he announced. "Up two flights, first door on the right." 

"Thanks," said Harry, starting to turn away. As his gaze caught on a glass case beside him in the cramped reception area, he almost licked his lips in anticipation. _Coca-Cola..._ He hadn't had one in ages, and for the next few days, he could have as many as he liked, couldn't he? Again, it was a case of _might as well,_ since if he was sure of anything, it was that he'd never get another chance to enjoy his favourite drink. 

Ignoring the old man's incredulous stare, Harry fished three plastic bottles out of the refrigerated case and pulled out his money again. "Three pounds, right?" He tossed the appropriate coins across the counter and headed for the narrow, steep stairs. Navigating them with one oversized suitcase, three bottles of soda, and a broom that Muggles couldn't see was a bit of a trick, but he managed all right. 

Number 22 turned out to be small and somewhat grotty, but Harry thought it looked wonderful all the same. He sat down on the springy bed, bouncing a little in his excitement, and opening up his first Coke, drained it in about thirty seconds flat. The second one he nursed a bit as he looked out the window at the traffic below. He knew it was a little bit silly to unpack in the circumstances--he'd only be here two nights, after all--but some part of him revelled in the process, anyway. He hung up his shirts in the chipped wardrobe, one after another all in a row, and grinned at the sight. It wasn't quite like having his own place, but it was as close as he was ever going to get. 

He'd worn his old, oversized Dudley clothes on the train, since that was just easier than letting the Dursleys see that he had any money of his own. But he didn't need them now, nor would he ever again. Thinking this was as good a time as ever, Harry went ahead and cast _Incendio_ across every last bit of clothing the Dursleys had so grudgingly "given" him. Afterwards, he felt set free. 

Probably about how Aunt Petunia had felt when she'd dragged out her steam cleaner to eradicate every trace of Harry's presence in her precious home, Harry thought with a grimace. 

But he wasn't going to let thoughts of his family ruin his holiday, he decided as he folded his Y-fronts and put them in a drawer, then dealt with the rest of his clothes. When everything was neatly put away, he felt as though he'd accomplished something significant. He had a home. It might be small and temporary, but for this short span of time at least, it was all _his._

Now that his clothes were dealt with, Harry wondered what do to with his other belongings. He still didn't want to damage his Firebolt by shrinking it, so he decided he'd have to leave it behind in the room. It wasn't too likely that any Muggles would notice it, not with that concealment charm, but if he left it leaning against the wall it might get knocked over, so Harry stowed it under the bed, pushing it all the way back against the wall. The portkeyed handkerchief got carefully folded and put away in his left trouser pocket, while his wand went into his right. He cast a concealment charm on the other odd things in his suitcase, so it would look empty if anyone opened it, though he doubted anyone would. 

Then, feeling like an adult wizard at last, he set about warding his room, putting all his magical education to use. He was of age now, fully entitled to use magic when and as he saw fit, though of course he was mindful of the need to hide all such activities from the Muggle world. The last thing he did was study himself in the mirror to see how his changes were holding up. Hmm, not so well. Personal transfiguration never had been his strong suit, and now that he thought back to sixth year, he remembered that his spells tended to waver at odd times, or worse, snap completely out of existence without warning. So that wouldn't do. 

A glamour, Harry decided. That would be a better option, since at least it would be stable. Plus, he could actually tell when a glamour he'd cast was weakening. So all he had to do was monitor it closely, and renew it time to time, and he should be fine. 

Harry waved his wand around and got his face back to normal, then set about casting a glamour that would look approximately the same. Good thing the old man hadn't seemed to have the best vision... but in any case, what he ended up with was pretty close to what he'd had before. He cast another sticking spell on his fringe, but still decided he'd stop at a chemist's first thing and get some concealing cream, the same as Severus had had him use the time they'd gone to Norway. 

Nobody who looked at him was going to have the remotest reason to suspect he was Harry Potter; he was determined on that. 

When he was satisfied that his room, belongings, and person were as secure as he could possibly make them, Harry grabbed his third Coke and took with him as he went to head out to find some dinner. 

Harry smiled as he ambled along, wandering almost at random down the streets surrounding the station. Like never before, he felt like he had an almost limitless array of choices laid out before him, at least as far as dinner was concerned. He ended up buying a gyro from a tiny, well-lit shop, and eating it as he walked along. It wasn't a fancy sit-down meal, but Harry didn't want to sit down. He felt restless and eager to explore, and besides, the gyro tasted absolutely delicious. He found a Boots and bought some concealing cream, and once he'd got his scar well-covered, he walked around that block and the next one over. 

He was sure he couldn't be recognised, but he kept a hand on his wand all the same, because if there was one thing his life had taught him, it was to be on guard for the unexpected. 

Nothing out of the ordinary transpired, though. When walking around one block after another led him out of the commercial district surrounding the train station, Harry started following the signs obviously placed for tourists. He didn't have a lot of interest in the Muggle government, but he still thought it would be interesting to see the Houses of Parliament, so he headed toward the Thames. On the way there, he bought a tour book from a street vendor. 

London of course was nothing at all like the remote part of Scotland where Hogwarts was located, but Harry found that walking along the river gave him much the same feeling he'd get while sitting on the shore of the lake. There was simply something restful about being near water, he decided as he leaned on a low stone wall and watched the reflection of city lights on the ripples below. The noise of traffic behind him and the bustle of boats cruising the river didn't detract from the loveliness, not for Harry. 

After a while he moved more fully into the light and flipped through the book he'd purchased, trying to decide what he'd like to spend his Friday and Saturday doing. There was just so much to choose from, though, that he soon felt winded just considering all his choices. But maybe it would be best to play it by ear in any case. Which reminded him that he might want to get moving again. 

When he was within sight of the Houses of Parliament, Harry simply had to stop and stare, because lit up as they were at night, they looked magnificent. They reminded him, actually, of that first sight he'd ever had of Hogwarts, the castle looming above him and seeming to blaze with glory. Of course, Hogwarts was far more... well, magical, in more ways than one. No Muggle building could possibly compete. For all that though, Harry was still impressed with what Muggles could achieve without magic. 

A strange structure set into the grass on the river bank caught his eye. It almost seemed a shrine, with its multicoloured conical roof glittering like a jewel and topped with a golden cross. Curious, Harry moved closer and saw that it was actually a small building mostly made of marble and open to the air. There was a small bench inside it, and by then Harry had been walking long enough that he thought a little rest would be in order, so he went inside and sat down to alternately contemplate the view of the river and that of Parliament. Really, it was quite an elaborate little house, he thought after a while, bemused by the shallow water font in the middle of it. 

When he left he noticed a sign in front of the odd structure. Leaning over to read the text in the dim lamplight--it was dark by then--he could just make out the text. _Buxton Memorial Fountain._ Well, that didn't tell him much, but the rest of the inscription did. 

_Monument to commemorate the abolition of slavery, 1834,_ Harry read. 

It was as though he'd swallowed a live eel. Something twisted around inside him, deep in his gut, the sensation so strong and real that all at once he felt physically ill. An idyll in London was well and good, but now he was remembering what awaited him back in Scotland. 

Slavery hadn't been abolished in the British Isles, not for him. 

That sort of legal guarantee was only for Muggles. 

Suddenly the Houses of Parliament looked even more enticing than before. The Muggle world was magnificent too, in its own way, Harry thought. What he wouldn't give for an opportunity to slip away from magic and all it represented! To pretend he'd never heard of Death Eaters or dark lords. To seize hold of his own life and be responsible only for himself, instead of expected to save the whole world. 

The feeling only grew stronger as he wandered closer to those brightly-lit buildings. Across the street, in front of something called the Guild Hall, there were statues Harry presumed to be great men in history. He'd never heard of most of them. What would his life be now if he'd been born into the Muggle world? Would he recognise all these figures? Would he be in university, or already out of school and supporting himself with a job? 

Would he be happier? 

One thing was certain: he wouldn't be looking at a lifetime of slavery, his only employment preparing himself to commit murder, his only lover a man who liked him well enough in bed but apart from that, didn't want anything much to do with him. 

But what good were dreams and wishes and bouts of _what if?_ He _was_ looking at a lifetime of slavery, and no amount of agony was going to change that, not one bit. All his grief could do was ruin this little bit of time he had left before he accepted the inevitable. 

And he would have to accept it. He had to _welcome_ it, to fervently wish for it. 

Sighing, Harry turned his back on Parliament and made his way back towards his hotel.


	38. Chapter 38

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Friday, June 12, 1998 ---- 9:20 a.m.**

_No morose thoughts,_ Harry sternly lectured himself as he let himself out of his room the next morning. He'd meant to wake up earlier to get a start on sightseeing, but figured he must have needed the extra sleep. Or maybe he was just naturally a late riser. He didn't often get the chance to laze about in bed; noisy dormitory mates or relatives demanding he get to work always had him up before he would like, but he remembered sleeping in a lot when he'd stayed in the Leaky Cauldron that time. 

So strange that he was almost nineteen years old and wasn't really sure if he was by nature an early or late riser. 

Actually, it made him wonder what else he didn't know about himself. 

The clerk on duty was a slim woman in her early twenties. Dark-haired and sultry, she was attractive enough to be on a magazine cover, at least as far as Harry was concerned. She smiled brightly at him when he bought another Coke from the glass case, and mentioned that they served a full English breakfast in the dining room. 

"Only three pounds fifty for hotel guests," she added when Harry shook his head to decline. 

"Thanks but no," said Harry, though he was tempted to agree. A couple of things stopped him. One, he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to flirt and he could see himself crossing the line. And two, he didn't have three pounds fifty left, anyway. Actually, his flirting probably wouldn't go over so well when he admitted he couldn't afford so much as breakfast. 

Just as well, really. He had to get used to the fact that flirting was just not going to be any part of his future, since he couldn't imagine Severus tolerating it even if Harry _wanted_ to flirt with him. Not that Harry could imagine wanting that. 

Still, he could imagine wanting to have sex with Severus, at least. Actually, he was getting pretty used to the idea. Hard not to, really, considering the thoughts that had filled his mind the night before. 

Thoughts of Severus on his knees before Harry. Of looking down and seeing that sleek black hair as the man drew Harry into his mouth. Of coming into that mouth, the release so intense that Harry actually thought he'd pass out for a moment. 

_He was fantasising about a man,_ Harry had realised as he'd lain there in bed, something jolting in his gut. _He was fantasising about having sex with a man..._

_But that makes sense,_ Harry had told himself. After all, he had got used to coming almost every night. Twice a night, even. And now he'd been without for a couple of nights and he was feeling randy. And since Severus was the only person he'd ever really been with, well, who should he think of when his body began to crave satisfaction? 

Right? 

_Right,_ Harry had decided, feeling a bit better about the whole thing. Since masturbation was definitely off limits, though, he'd rolled onto his stomach to go to sleep. The trouble was, images kept stealing through his mind. Strands of hair falling over his knuckles as Harry brushed it. A lean body, the skin so pale it almost seemed to glow by candlelight. Weighing that thick, long cock in his hand. The way Severus had caught his breath when Harry had touched him there... 

Not too surprisingly, Harry had felt his arousal growing, making sleep all but impossible. He shifted a bit to accommodate his hard-on, only to hear himself moaning as his balls pulled up against his body and his cock thrust into the sheets. 

His every thought made him harden further. Thoughts such as the fact that Severus seemed to really like sucking him off. Harry might be the one destined to be the slave, but he thought he could probably get the other man to do a lot of that. And that sounded good... as long as it was never demanded of him in return, of course. But since it seemed like Severus intended to be thoroughly considerate in the bedroom... yeah, Harry wasn't too terribly worried. Taking it up the backside still scared him a little, but then again, he'd certainly enjoyed Severus' long, supple fingers... 

_Wrong thing to think. Definitely, the wrong thing to think,_ Harry had at once realised, because the moment he recalled how unbelievably good it had felt to have Severus touch his prostate, he found himself humping the mattress _._

But any sort of real satisfaction was forbidden and he knew it. Flipping onto his back again, Harry clenched his fists and told himself not to think of Severus. No matter that the man knew how to wring the most mind-blowing climaxes from Harry, or that in a sexual sense, Harry was finding himself missing him. 

He wasn't missing him, not really, Harry hurriedly told himself. He was just missing the sex. And as tempting as it would be to use this holiday to bring himself off several times a day, that just wasn't on. He had to make sure he was primed for the invocation, especially if Severus was right about Harry's potion increasing desire but making it harder to actually come. And when had Snape ever been wrong about a potion? 

Breathing in deeply, Harry had forced himself to think about the most boring subject he could come up with. Potions, of course. He tried to list all the ones he'd misbrewed over the years. It turned out to be a long list, but he never found out just how long. Long before he'd run out of draughts to list, he'd fallen asleep. 

Only to dream of Severus. 

It hadn't been a wet dream. Nothing too explicit, either. Just Severus and him kissing, hour after hour, while warm water surrounded them. 

Harry wasn't sure what to think, now. Apart from Severus he'd never entertained fantasies about a male. It had never even occurred to him to do so, and that despite the fact that he did know of a few same-sex couples back at Hogwarts. It wasn't as though he'd never heard of such a thing. 

Maybe he was attracted to Severus only because they'd been _forced into this way of relating,_ as the other man had put it. 

But that didn't explain why Harry was almost nineteen and had yet to sleep with a girl, did it... Sure, privacy was difficult to arrange at Hogwarts but when he was completely honest with himself, he knew he'd had plenty of chances to lose his virginity. And plenty of girls to lose it with, especially in Hufflepuff. 

Why had he waited so long? 

Harry didn't really know. 

All he was sure of was that he wasn't sure of much. Not any longer. 

He tried to stop thinking about it as he made his way across town to the Leaky Cauldron so he could let himself into Diagon Alley. He succeeded fairly well, too, mostly because there were a lot of other things to capture his attention. 

Money, for instance. He wondered if he was going to have a problem Gringotts, seeing as he definitely didn't look like Harry Potter now. Since he only intended to exchange the Galleons in his money pouch for Muggle bank notes though, he didn't think it would much matter who he was or wasn't. It wasn't as it he intended to withdraw anything from his vault. 

Gringotts went as expected, except for two things. The exchange rate had almost doubled since he'd done this last, so he ended up with more money than he'd anticipated, and the lines were a lot longer. A good many of his former class mates were at Gringotts as well, establishing accounts of their own. Harry spotted Seamus Finnegan and Padma Patil, and had to crush a strong urge to go over and talk with them. Of course they wouldn't know him in this guise, but he thought he could convince them of who he really was. That was no good, though. He couldn't afford to have it get out that Harry Potter had been wandering around Diagon Alley, and not just because a rumour like that might cause Voldemort and his henchmen to start hunting for him. 

Far more significant was Severus' sure reaction if _he_ ever found out. Harry shivered, hating to think about the kind of trouble he'd be in then. 

But Severus wasn't going to find out; Harry was determined on that. 

As soon as he had a pocket stuffed with folded bank notes, he made his way out of Wizarding London and back to his hotel to pay for two more nights. Once that was done, he started looking around for a place to have breakfast. It was welcome feeling, knowing that he had plenty of money now. For anything, really. He barely noticed that his footsteps were taking him back in the direction of Diagon Alley, until he chose a nice-looking restaurant that had tables outside, and realised it wasn't too far from the Leaky Cauldron. Hmm, wiser to sit inside, he decided. 

Just to be safe, Harry checked his pockets, but of course everything was fine. His wand was tucked away in one, his money and the Portkey in the other. The thin guide book he'd purchased rested in his back jeans pocket, since he didn't much care if a pickpocket got it. He could always buy another. 

Over a full English breakfast--cost four pounds fifty here though--Harry pored over his guide to London, trying to decide where to go first. 

"Visiting, are you?" asked the middle-aged waitress as she topped up his tea. 

"Yeah, and I only have a couple of days," said Harry as he reached for the little pitcher of milk on the table. He decided he could do worse than ask a local her best idea about what was worth seeing. "And there's too much to do. I don't suppose you'd have any suggestions... er, Nancy?" 

He added her name almost as an afterthought when he remembered what another server had called her. 

The waitress beamed, planting one hand on a hip as she stood there. "Well, my favourite place bar none is the Victoria and Albert Museum. I go there every chance I get. Could spend a week there, easy, looking at all the dresses and furniture--" 

Harry gave her a rather strained smile. 

"But that wouldn't be your cup of tea, I suppose," murmured the waitress. "Well then, there's always the Imperial War Museum. Lots of things there a young man your age might like. Armaments, information about the two world wars..." 

Harry shook his head. "The truth is, I'm not too interested in Mug-- I mean, modern history," he said, hastily covering up his near-slip. 

"The British Museum's collection goes all the way back to antiquity." 

"Or history at all, really," Harry admitted. 

The waitress, he noticed, was beginning to look a little bit exasperated with him. "Do you like castles?" 

"Um, well I've only ever seen one, really." 

"Try the Tower of London then," Nancy advised, starting to turn away. She gave him a brief smile before she bustled off. 

Harry finished his tea while he read the guide book section about the Tower. It sounded interesting enough. He thought he'd spend the morning there, then hunt up someplace for a late lunch and try to get another set of recommendations from a local. He set off down Charing Cross Road, heading for the nearest tube station, when a sudden prickling near his spine brought him up short. 

He was walking passing a bookshop, and not just any bookshop, either. 

_Blackwell's._

Harry dithered a bit on the sidewalk, tempted to go in. _I think Blackwell's has a pretty good human sexuality section,_ Hermione had said. Words to that effect, anyway. _I could pick you up a book..._

And Harry had declined, telling himself that he'd do better to figure things out on his own. That hadn't worked out too badly, but still... it _would_ be his very last chance for a long, long time to steal a peek at the kind of book Hermione had mentioned. No _way_ would Severus have anything remotely like that on his shelves. 

So... maybe he should go in and see what he could find. 

He wouldn't buy anything, since there wasn't much point when he'd just have to destroy it a few days later, but there was no harm in looking, surely? 

_Yeah, I'll just take a little peek,_ Harry thought. _No more than fifteen minutes. And I'll kind of find a corner or something where people can't really see what I'm looking at. Yeah, all right._

He felt nervous as he pushed open the door to the shop, but very few people were about, so that helped. His eyebrows went up a bit when he found the shelves he was looking for. So many books... he could hardly believe his eyes. 

Or perhaps _that_ sentiment was best reserved for what he saw when he began flipping through some of those books. The illustrations! Not just line drawings, but actual _photographs_ of men in the throes of passion together. Page after page of them, in some books. 

Harry's mouth went a little bit dry. He'd never seen so many cocks at once, not even in the Quidditch showers. Of course there he'd tried hard not to look, since he wouldn't want anybody thinking he might be interested in another bloke's equipment... 

But now, looking at these photographs... well, he wasn't exactly uninterested, was he? His own cock was twitching a bit, particularly when he studied a rather nice illustration of a dark-haired man who was very well endowed. 

Without realising it, Harry licked his lips. 

When he turned the page things only got worse. Or better, perhaps. The dark-haired man was on his knees, his cock jutting out from his body as he sucked another man off. And the man being pleasured looked incredible, his head thrown back as he cried out... 

_Too bad this isn't a wizarding book so I could see him come,_ Harry thought, finally opening the Coke he'd bought earlier. Three long swigs helped clear his mind a bit, even if the bottle wasn't cold any longer. 

A masculine voice from behind startled him. 

"Beverages aren't a good idea inside the shop, I'm afraid." 

Harry closed the book he'd been perusing and sort of hid the title as he spun around. It was a clerk who had spoken. Taller than Harry, with black hair pulled back into a ponytail, he looked about twenty-five, Harry thought. 

"Sorry." Harry hurriedly capped his drink and thrust it out, feeling a bit as though he'd been caught using a sugar quill in class. 

"You can keep it," the clerk said amiably. "We'd just ask that you not open it inside." 

Nodding that he understood, Harry turned back to the shelves. As he shoved the book back where it belonged, he heard the clerk walk off. A bit unnerved that the man had seen him standing there perusing _those_ books, Harry moved off in a random direction and browsed the travel section for a few moments. But the shelves he'd just left seemed to be calling him back. 

This time, Harry selected a few titles and took them with him to the far corner of the store, where he began to pore over them, reading parts of the text instead of just gaping at the photographs. Since he was still a little worried about how it would be to have Severus' cock up his arse, he started with those chapters. He soon stopped reading, though, preferring instead to study the illustrations of various positions. Most of them were ones he'd never thought of. 

Intrigued, Harry turned the book this way and that, trying to figure out some of the pictures. When he'd wrapped his mind around them, he decided he'd better really read some of the chapters he'd been leafing through, so he found a likely looking chair and settled in. 

Some time later--a long time, judging by the rumbling feeling in his belly--the clerk who had chided him for his drink came came over again. Harry didn't notice until a slight shadow fell across his page. 

"Finding everything all right?" 

Embarrassed, Harry slammed the book closed, but that hardly helped. The cover art was extremely effective at communicating the content inside. Feeling himself go ten shades of red, Harry flipped the book over so that only the text on the back showed, and mumbled something about needing to get going. 

The clerk sort of squatted down next to Harry's chair so they were more on a level, and Harry found himself looking into eyes very nearly as dark as Severus'. For some reason the sight helped calm him. Or maybe that was more due to the employee's smooth, quiet voice as he said, "Are you sure you wouldn't like to purchase one of those? We go through quite a few of this title." 

With that, the employee was plucking _Every Man's Guide to Every Man_ from the stack at Harry's feet. 

"That one looked good, yeah," Harry said, remembering some of the photos inside. "But uh... too much anatomy for me." 

"No science background?" 

As the clerk smiled, his white teeth flashing, Harry noticed that he wore a tiny stud earring. It took him a moment to make sense of the question he'd just been asked. "Oh. Um no, not too much science. Just... some chemistry, basically, but I was pretty much crap at it." 

A low laugh answered that. "I can definitely relate. Name's Richard, by the way." 

Thinking quickly, Harry said, "Jonathan. Pleased to meet you," and held out a hand. 

Richard's hand, Harry thought, seemed soft even while his grip felt strong. That was interesting. 

"Well," he said, standing up, "I don't think I'm really in a buying mood, so I'll be heading out now." 

Richard stood up as well, ending up half a head taller than Harry. "You have to get to work?" 

"Oh, no. No job." Thinking that probably sounded strange, Harry added, "Well, not yet, I mean. I'm just out of school and came to London to do a bit of sight-seeing, that's all." 

"Ah. Thought your accent sounded a bit dodgy." 

Harry laughed. 

"Well if you don't have to rush out to a job, why not let me show you a little local colour?" Richard's teeth flashed again. "I get off at noon on Fridays, and it's about that now. There are a few cinemas right down the street. We could take in a film if you like." 

Part of Harry thought it an awful shame to spend two hours of a June afternoon in a cinema, but a much bigger part of him was realising that he'd probably never get another chance to see a movie. Not even on the telly, since Hogwarts and electronics just didn't mix well. "If something really good is playing..." 

"Well of course there's _Star Wars_. I'm starting to think they're never going to tire of..." Something in Harry's expression must have given him away, because Richard's eyes were narrowing with suspicion. "You've never seen _Star Wars?_ The re-release has been going strong for a year!" 

"I don't get to many movies." 

"But what about video?" 

Harry shrugged. "Never got a chance," he said honestly. 

"Oh, you must. And it's really best on the big screen," said Richard earnestly. "Nothing like it, really. Shall we? We can pick up a bite of lunch on the way if you like." 

Harry silently debated the matter for a few seconds, then decided that he didn't see the harm. Richard seemed a friendly enough sort. He definitely wasn't a Death Eater in disguise. Not even Voldemort's schemes were so bizarre as to involve planting a minion in a London bookshop on the off-chance that Harry Potter would stop by. 

So everything seemed safe enough. 

And anyway, if he'd miscalculated something, he had not just a wand but a Portkey as well. 

"Sure," Harry answered, nodding. 

"Are you positive you don't want one of those books?" 

"I was just browsing," said Harry. 

"All right." Richard waved a vague hand toward the front of the shop. "I'll just tell my manager I'm off shift, then." 

"See you outside." 

"Yeah, that probably would be best." Richard lowered his voice. "I'm really not supposed to pick up men on the job, you see. But sometimes..." He swept his dark gaze up and down Harry, his attention seeming to linger on chest and thighs. "I really can't resist." 

"Oh, but I'm not..." Harry blushed, and thought it would probably sound ridiculous to claim he wasn't interested in men. Not after Richard had seen him poring over all those books. And besides, he was starting to believe he must be a little bit interested, at least. There was no doubt that he enjoyed sex with Severus, and while he'd told himself that there was nothing to that but the other man's skill, Harry now realised he'd just been fooling himself. There had to be something inside _him_ as well, that had made it all work out, didn't there? He might not have realised as much if he'd never looked at these books, but he had looked at them. And he'd felt his trousers growing snug at times as he'd looked at those pictures. Even something as simple as two men kissing had been enough to get to him. 

He was attracted to men, all right. 

Dark-haired men. 

"I'm not available," he said to Richard. "Really, I'm not." 

Richard gave a sigh as he shook his head. "The really good-looking ones never are. Well, we can still take in that movie, Jonathan. Go as friends?" 

"Yeah, why not?" Harry smiled. "All right." 

"I'll be out in five minutes." Richard smiled back, and then hurried off towards the counter at the front of the shop. 

  
  
  
  


**Friday, June 12, 1998 ---- 12:15 p.m.**

A showing of the film was beginning just after they arrived at the cinema, so Harry and Richard went straight in. Harry's tummy was rumbling, but he ignored it since he certainly wasn't going to wait until three o'clock to see the film. 

Apparently though, his hunger had attracted attention. 

"Want anything?" asked Richard, gesturing toward the concession area. 

"Perhaps an ice cream," murmured Harry. 

"On me," said Richard. "Since you bought our tickets. What flavour do you fancy?" 

Harry studied the list on the opposite wall. "Oh, I don't know. I guess strawberry." 

Richard came back in a few moments with a cone for himself as well as Harry, and also a tall paper cup brimming with Coca-Cola. "Since I wouldn't let you drink yours while it was cold," he explained. 

"Thanks," Harry said, taking a sip. "Hmm. Do they have straws anywhere?" 

"I definitely cannot bear the sight of you drinking through a straw, Jonathan," said the other man, his lips curling upwards. 

"Why not?" 

Richard stared at him. "Are you serious?" 

"Yeah. What's wrong?" 

"Oh, my." Richard cleared his throat, looking Harry up and down, then took his arm and sort of steered him into the room showing _Star Wars_. Only when they were relatively secluded in their seats did he speak again, and then it was in a whisper. "Why did you say you were unavailable, Jonathan? You obviously aren't experienced enough to be in an exclusive relationship, if you have to ask why I'd rather not see you sucking on... well, anything but me." 

Harry felt himself blush crimson. " _Oh..._ " 

"Yes, oh," said Richard, laughing a bit, but not in any sort of cruel way. "How could a man like you not end up more worldly before this, I'm asking myself." 

Harry was still stuck on the implication of what Richard had said. "It would... um, bother you, just to see me using a straw to drink?" 

"You'd better believe it." Richard leaned forward a little, shifting in his seat so he could look more fully at Harry. "It bothers me just to imagine the sight." Again his gaze travelled over Harry's body, lingering rather speculatively on his his hips and thighs. 

_I get hard just looking at you,_ Severus had said. Harry had thought at the time that Snape was just being Slytherin about the whole thing. He was going to have to have Harry in his bed in order to cross their powers, so he'd decided he might as well find Harry attractive. Something like that. 

But Richard had no earthly reason to convince himself of anything. 

And it also wasn't as though Harry could say it was just the glamour Richard was attracted to. That only affected Harry's face, and Richard's interest obviously centred more on the body he kept staring at. 

Harry's body. 

It was odd how that made Harry feel. Part of him thought it was ludicrous; he wasn't the stuff dreams were made of, after all. Part of him though, liked having the other man look at him with a glimmer in his dark eyes. One part, in particular. 

Especially when Richard smiled. 

Harry's cock stiffened, just enough for him to be aware of it. 

"Oh, _very_ nice," said Richard, who had clearly noticed. 

And that, of course, only made Harry get harder. 

"I think you're not as unavailable as you made out." Richard laid a hand on his arm and felt Harry from wrist to elbow through his long sleeve. "Such nice muscles you have." 

Harry removed his arm from the armrest. "Thanks, but I am. Unavailable, that is. We're here as friends, remember? You have to behave." 

Richard leaned back in his own seat, then. "If you insist." 

"I have to," said Harry, a little bit regretful. Richard was... well, tempting. Not that Harry wanted as much as the other man definitely did, but he wouldn't mind finding out what a kiss between them would be like. 

The whole thing was off-limits, though, and he knew it. Nobody was allowed to touch him but Severus. Not now, and certainly not after the invocation. 

Harry sighed, momentarily forgetting his resolve to avoid morose thoughts. Richard seemed really nice--right down to knowing how to take a _no_ \--and had things been different, Harry might want to see where this could go. He might even want to do more than kiss; he could _almost_ see them doing some of those things that had been illustrated in such detail in the books he'd pored over. 

Of course, he might want to try a few things with girls, too, if he had his way. 

But he wasn't going to have his way, ever. Fate had picked for him, and Severus was all he would ever have. 

"Problem?" asked Richard, leaning over. 

Harry lifted his Coke cup to his lips to hide his expression. "No, just waiting for the movie to start." He tried to think of something else to say. A safe topic, one which would get his mind off the way Richard had been looking at him. "Um, you said re-release, I think. When was this movie new, anyway?" 

"1977." 

"Before I was born, then," Harry said, nodding as he did the math. His parents would still have been in school then. But when the summer came, they might have gone to the movies. Harry might never have seen _Star Wars_ himself, but he was aware that the movie had been considered an awfully big deal back when it was new. He could just imagine his father sitting in a cinema like this, waiting for the film to start. 

Harry smiled, delighted, feeling just a little bit like he had all those years ago when he'd gotten his father's cloak as a present. It was a connection to him. And so was this. A frail connection reaching back in time, to a James Potter even younger than Harry was now. 

"Why are you so happy all of a sudden?" asked Richard, his voice lilting with curiosity. 

" _Star Wars_ was a really good idea, that's all," murmured Harry, glancing at his companion. "Thanks for inviting me." 

"My pleasure." Richard smiled too, then, his dark eyes gleaming. 

Harry felt that glance all the way down to his bones, but before he could think much about that, the screen lit up and his thoughts were drawn away from the man at his side. 

  
  
  
  


**Friday, June 12, 1998 ---- 2:46 p.m.**

"Perhaps a spot of lunch," suggested Richard as he and Harry left the cinema. "There's a pub just 'round the corner that does a decent kidney pie." 

Harry glanced at his watch. He still wanted to get to the Tower of London and have enough time to tour it before it closed, but on the other hand, he also needed to eat something that could be called a meal. Coke and ice cream definitely didn't qualify. And Richard had been excellent company so far. He'd made it clear he'd like to explore being more than friends, but he hadn't crossed any sort of line. Lunch with him sounded quite nice, so Harry smiled and nodded. 

Once they were perched on chairs at a high table at the pub, Harry reached into his pocket to fish out his wallet. 

"No, no, none of that," chided Richard as he leaned back on his stool. "You paid for the tickets, remember?Lunch is on me." 

Harry grinned. "You paid for the refreshments, though." 

"Yeah, and don't think I didn't live to regret getting you that ice cream. Lick after lick after lick. You did know what you were doing to me, right? Especially after I'd explained about the straw?" 

"Um..." 

"Yeah, I thought so," drawled Richard, leaning close over the table. Harry almost thought the other man was going to kiss him for a second. Anticipation held him there; he didn't draw back. But all Richard did was speak, still in that low, smooth voice. "If you were a bit more experienced, we'll say, I'd call you a tease. But the way I figure it, you're just... learning." 

"I... er, sorry," Harry whispered back, a little bit abashed. It wasn't nice to make a man hard like that when you had no intention of following through; he might be inexperienced, but he did know that much. It wasn't like he'd _tried_ to do that to Richard, though. It had just happened, and Harry had thought it was interesting, and a bit of fun, to realise he had that much power over the other man. 

Maybe he'd just liked the feeling because all too soon he was going to become so powerless. 

_Slave._

But he'd promised himself no morose thoughts. There'd be plenty of time for those later; no sense in ruining his last few days of freedom. 

"I've got loads of bank notes I have to spend, so you may as well let me buy lunch," Harry said. 

"Why do you have to spend them?" 

"Um..." 

Richard settled the slight dispute by simply hopping off his stool and going over to the bar, where he gave the barkeep their order and paid. He came back bearing two tall mugs of best bitter. 

Parched, Harry drank about half of his down without pause. It was stronger than he'd expected; he could feel it going to his head a little. He found himself idly wondering if Severus ever drank beer. 

"So what did you think of the movie?" asked Richard over the lip of his own mug. 

The truth was, Harry had been overwhelmed by the whole experience. He'd seen quite a few movies on the telly, but never before had he gone to a cinema to see one on the _big screen,_ as Richard had put it. The sheer size of that screen had seemed to draw him right into the fictional world. 

Well, when he hadn't been thinking about Richard beside him, that was. 

But he didn't want to sound like an idiot by talking about how huge the screen had been, so he tried to focus on the details of the film itself. 

"Hmm. Well that Darth Vader character seemed a bit off," he thoughtfully remarked. "Not nearly evil enough for a true villain." 

Richard set his mug down and laughed, brushing back the strands of black hair that had worked themselves free from his ponytail. His voice was droll when he replied. "Oh, right. Ordering whole planets blown to bits and choking anyone who looks at him wrong... that's not evil at all." 

Harry had finished his beer by then. He felt a bit fuzzy, but in a pleasant way. Plus, he liked the way Richard was smiling at him. Or maybe he just liked looking at the man, whom he had to admit was quite good-looking. And knowing that Richard thought the same thing about him... it was really quite exhilarating. "No, he was evil all right. I just meant, compared to real dark wi... uh, dark kinds of figures, he seemed a bit heavy on the bad dialogue and light on the deeds, that's all." 

"What real dark kinds of figures?" asked Richard, his brow furrowed. 

"Oh. Er..." Harry strained his mind to come up with something to say. Anything, as long as it would make sense to a Muggle. Well, history had never been his absolute strong point, but some things were common knowledge. "Like Hitler, I mean. With the racial purity obsession? Now that's evil. Vader there never seemed to have much reason to go about doing... well, I guess ambition would explain it, but still, he didn't seem to have much of a reason to be on the Empire's side. I don't know, it didn't quite make sense." 

Richard leaned forward, his expression intent. "Ah, but he did have a reason. The Force." 

"Oh, _that,_ " Harry said with disdain. He broke off speaking as their pies arrived, then explained, "The good guys were also adherents of the Force, so that hardly explains why Darth Vader was evil. But something else bothered me about the whole Force idea, anyway. They were so obviously talking about magic the whole way through. Those light sabres were stand-ins for wands; the characters even used them to duel! So why not just call it magic?" 

Smiling wryly, Richard picked up his fork. "You seem to have definite opinions on the matter." 

Harry couldn't help but think of the Dursleys. "Well are most Mu... um, are most moviegoers so skittish about the idea of magic that it has to be dressed up as something else?" 

"I think Lucas was just trying to be mystical." 

"You mean Luke?" 

"No. George Lucas, the director. You haven't heard of him?" 

Harry shrugged as he applied himself to devouring his food. 

"I thought you were having me on, you know, saying you'd never seen _Star Wars,_ " Richard said in an odd tone. "But I think now you were serious. And considering what I found out earlier, you not realising about the straw... just how sheltered a life have you led, Jonathan?" 

"Hmm, well my family is pretty strict," Harry explained, figuring he'd stick to generalities. "They sent me to a boarding school way out in the middle of nowhere where you can't even get anything on the telly. And as for the other... well, let's just say they aren't too open-minded." 

"And now that you've left school you're finding yourself, breaking away from their rules?" 

"Something like that." 

Richard lowered his voice. "About your being unavailable, Jonathan. Do you say that because you have to be careful, because your family mustn't find out about your... preferences? But they still live in Surrey, right? And... well, we're nowhere near Surrey, see?" 

Harry's throat went dry. He wished he had another bitter to wash away the feeling. "Um, yeah, I do see. But I wasn't talking about my family, actually. I really am... er, taken." 

"Tell me about him." 

Harry wasn't quite sure why he did. Maybe some part of him really wanted to talk. "Well, I met him up in Scotland where I went to school. He's... hmm, not sure what to say. He's sort of hard to describe. Tall, dark hair, older... Anyway, I'm um... really committed to him." 

For some reason, Richard looked sceptical, which made Harry wonder if he hadn't sounded as committed as he really should, with the invocation less than a week off. 

"Is he good to you?" 

Harry tried to make sure his voice emerged positive and definite on that score. "Oh, yeah, he is. Well, mostly. I mean, he has his moods. Actually, his personality is sort of a challenge at times, but lately in particular he's been trying harder. So that's good." 

"But why are you visiting London on your own, then?" Richard's gaze dropped to Harry's chest and stayed there. "Doesn't he know better than to let a bloke like you out of his sight? You're..." Looking up again, the man smiled. "Let's just say that if I hadn't asked you out, somebody else would have. In short order, too. Are you sure you weren't looking to be picked up, Jonathan? You did spend quite a while poring over those books, you know." 

Harry felt himself flushing. "I was reading them." 

"But you have plenty of money, you said. You could have bought them and read them somewhere more discreet if you weren't actually trying to see if this Scottish bloke is really your type--" 

"He's not Scottish," Harry crossly interrupted. "And I didn't know it was considered... um, flirtatious to look over the books in the store. I was on my way to the Tower, that's all. And I stopped in on a whim. A friend of mine mentioned Blackwell's recently." 

"You never did explain why you were on your own in London." 

"I wanted some time on my own." Harry sighed. "Look, if things were different maybe there'd be some point to this conversation. But things aren't different. I'm here to do some sightseeing; it'll likely be my last chance for a good long while. So it's been nice meeting you, but I need to get going." 

"You've barely eaten half your pie." 

Harry stood up. "I can't stay and finish it, not now I know you're going to keep on like this, Richard. I... no, best I just go now." 

"There's always tomorrow for the Tower, you know. Why don't we take a boat ride down to Greenwich and get to know each other a little better? You ought to stretch your wings a bit before deciding to commit yourself to any one person, don't you think?" 

"I'm committed already." 

"If you'll pardon an honest comment, you don't seem terribly so--" 

"Strange as it may seem to hear this, Richard, I'm glad you said that. I'll work on seeming so. It's important. And... I suppose I'll start by leaving here now. Good-bye." 

But Richard was suddenly in front of him, standing between him and the door. "One kiss," he said softly. 

"Here in the middle of a pub? You're mad," hissed Harry. "And I'm not interested." 

"You are!" 

"I can't be," said Harry in the coldest voice he could muster. 

When Richard didn't move, Harry shoved past him to get outside, where he did his best to lose himself in the crowded London street.


	39. Chapter 39

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Friday, June 12, 1998 ---- 6:20 p.m.**

Harry didn't get as much time as he'd have liked in the Tower, but then again, his heart hadn't really been in it. Long-dead Muggle queens couldn't do much to hold his interest, not when all he could think about was the fact that he wished he could have risked that kiss Richard had asked for. 

Harry wasn't sure what surprised him most: that in London it was apparently all right for two men to kiss in public, or that his cock had hardened at the thought of it. 

Of course, his cock _always_ went stiff when he was kissing Severus, but that was different. He'd been more-or-less trained to it; he wasn't so dense that he hadn't realised _that_. Severus Snape not only knew how to pleasure a man, he knew how to use all his Slytherin talents to make sure that the pleasure served whatever ends it needed to. 

But since Harry needed _Cambiare Podentes_ to succeed, he was hardly in a position to resent that, let alone criticise it. 

But for him to have felt that same sensation of balls tautening with desire when it came to _Richard..._

It just brought home the epiphany he'd had earlier that day while perusing those books. He _was_ attracted to men, and not just pictures of them, now. For one brief moment at least, he'd wanted Richard. 

Maybe it was just because Richard represented simplicity. Escape. Freedom. With him, there wouldn't be any agonising decisions. Richard was what Harry could have if he wasn't held captive by the prophecy and by the heavy weight of responsibility that was his and his alone. 

Again that feeling of wanting to be a Muggle assailed Harry, so strongly that this time, he could taste it. 

But what use were wishes like that? Harry shook his head and leaned on the railing, watching the boats cruise up and down the Thames. He tried not to think about the fact that some of them were going to Greenwich, or wonder if Richard had gone on alone when Harry had refused to accompany him. 

He tried not to think about slipping into the Muggle world and vanishing, about leaving his wand and broom and cloak behind, about abandoning anything remotely associated with magic. It was no use; Voldemort would find him all the same. And even if Harry could manage to escape, the wizarding world couldn't. Voldemort would establish his reign of terror... unless Harry was empowered to stop him. 

And _Cambiare Podentes_ was the only way. 

Harry turned his gaze away from the river and spotted a stand selling snacks and drinks. Truth to tell, he was getting a little bit sick of drinking Coca-Cola, but he bought another one anyway. Might as well, right? He had to go back to Hogwarts the next evening, and after that, he'd probably never ever get another Coke. 

As he twisted off the cap and took a swig, some tourists passed him. They were chattering away in a language Harry didn't recognise. Probably Severus would. Hell, Severus probably spoke it. 

_Yeah, it's no great wonder he can hardly stand me except in bed,_ Harry thought, repressing a desire to kick at the wall he was leaning against. _Why would he? I'm not good at anything except recklessness, and I know how much he approves of that._

Was that why Richard had said Harry didn't seem committed? Because Harry kept having thoughts like that, and it showed? Harry frowned as he thought about it. He knew he was unavailable... but he didn't _feel_ like he was. Well, of course not. He'd definitely wanted to kiss Richard; only the knowledge that it was forbidden had stopped him. 

_The spell reads intentions,_ Severus had said. 

So sometime between now and the seventeenth, he had to find a way to _want_ to belong to Severus. 

Talk about asking for the impossible! 

Well, if he didn't quite feel that commitment yet, he had to at least act like he did. Not that the spell could be fooled, but maybe if he started to act like he felt committed to Severus, he'd be able to fool himself. 

So no more looking at the river. No more thoughts of sailing away. 

No more thoughts of Richard. 

He had just tonight and tomorrow left to explore London, and he was going to make the most of it. With that thought in mind, Harry began to climb the stone steps that led up to the Tower Bridge. He'd cross the Thames here, he decided, then make his way down the opposite bank so he could take a closer look at the battleship moored in the river. 

And then, he'd hunt up somewhere nice to eat. A sit-down restaurant with cloth napkins and ridiculously high prices. A memory to last him through the meals he'd have to eat in the dungeon from now on. He wouldn't even be allowed to eat in the Great Hall, not if it was going to be a deep, dark secret that he'd never left Hogwarts. Severus would have to eat there often once term started again, and Harry would be left without even his company at dinner. 

But then again, he was eating alone tonight, wasn't he? Best get used to it. 

There was no question of inviting Richard, after all, even if Harry did know how to get in touch with him, which he didn't. But still, lunch with him had been quite nice, at least until the other man had gotten just a little too forward. Actually, Harry wouldn't even have minded that if he'd been free to explore matters more. But he wasn't free, and he couldn't explain why not. 

_That's right. I'm committed to Severus,_ Harry thought. _That's the way it has to be._

Harry reached the top of the stairs and began making his way down the pedestrian walkway. He didn't exactly have a spring in his step, but neither was he glumly looking out at the river any longer. Mostly, he was looking up, admiring the tall square towers of the bridge as he came closer to them. 

He was never quite sure exactly what happened next. The platform beneath his feet seemed to shudder; Harry chalked that up to vibrations from the heavy traffic streaming alongside it. But then the shuddering grew worse, the walkway lurching several inches upwards, then yanking itself back down so sharply that pedestrians were left airborne for a split second. And not just people, Harry realised with horror. The honking of horns along with screams all around announced that the entire bridge had felt the lurch. 

Harry's Quidditch experience came in useful, then. His acute reflexes taking over, he landed nimbly on the balls of his feet. All around him, though, people had crashed to the walkway in various awkward positions. One woman had obviously sprained her ankle; she was leaning on the handle of the pram she'd been pushing, all her concern centred on the baby within. 

And then the walkway lurched upwards again, more sharply than before. 

Harry heard the noise of cars crashing into one another that time. And more screams, hysterical ones this time. 

The woman was trying to fetch her baby out of the pram so she could run with him. 

"No, no!" Harry yelled, rushing over to her. When he reached her side through the increasingly violent crowd, she was fumbling with some sort of strap holding the baby in. "Stop!" Harry said fiercely, his hands covering hers. "If this keeps up he's safer in there. What if it gets worse and he slips from your arms?" 

"But what's happening?" the woman asked, yelling to be heard over the noise of the crowd. 

"I don't know. I--" Harry's sentence was cut off as someone shoved him aside and several people pushed their way past him, trying no doubt to get back to the stairs so they could exit the bridge. He started shoving too, and got back to the woman. She was limping badly as she leant on the pram and tried to push it along. For one second Harry wondered how she'd even got it up the stairs herself. Then he realised she must have had help, and that she needed even more now. 

"Here, lean on me," he said, reaching into his pocket for his wand. He couldn't openly perform any magic, but if he could just manage the swish-and-flick for a feather-light charm... He whispered the incantation, barely moving his lips, and felt the woman's weight decrease by several stones. Supporting her with one arm, he used the other to push the pram along, and joined the surge of people rushing to get off the bridge. 

The next upward surge was so strong that Harry began to fear the bridge might buckle. People were thrown against the rails; an elderly man was very nearly tossed completely over. He gained his feet all right, though; Harry noticed that much before the crowd swept him along like flotsam at high tide. 

Traffic had stopped completely; there were too many crashed cars blocking the lanes now. Drivers and passengers were scrambling from their vehicles, forming a mass of people all across the roadway, all of them intent on one thing: getting to the stairs and off the bridge. 

It began to look quite likely to Harry that people would end up trampled before this was over. 

Then the entire roadway began to ripple like a ribbon someone had flicked by one end, the motion not so much up-and-down any longer as twisted, like the bridge was attempting to turn the roadway completely over to dump cars and people alike into the river below. 

Screams, panic, hysteria, but Harry barely had time to register any of it. 

Something large and hard was flying at him, so quickly that even his Quidditch-honed reflexes were of no use. He ducked to the side, but it struck him anyway and barrelled him straight away from the woman he was trying to help. A horrified thought flashed through his mind. 

_The feather-light charm! If the bridge tries again to buckle, she'll have no chance of keeping feet to pavement!_

He fumbled in his pocket and cancelled the spell in the instant before his flight abruptly ended. His skull struck stone as he crashed into the side of the tower. 

Harry slumped to the ground, barely conscious, blood pouring down the side of his face. Beside him lay a mustard-yellow suitcase. 

_Samsonite_ , the label facing him read. 

The world was strangely silent, though all around him he could see feet and legs stampeding past. Caught in the lee of the tower, however, was like being in the eye of a storm. 

Harry pushed unsteadily to his feet, feeling like he might collapse any second. He wiped at his face, swiping his hair to the side, rubbing his forehead to try to stop the blood trying to drip into his eyes. The bridge was tilting now, more and more, almost like it planned to lie down on its side. Or maybe it was just him. Colours were washing together like dyes in water, and everything was out of focus. So yeah, probably it was just him. He thought something in his pocket moved, but felt like if he looked down to check, he might just faint. 

Drawing in a deep breath, Harry took a step forward, lurching away from the tower. Now the bridge wasn't so much leaning as spinning, but he had to get off it, so he moved again, thinking that the momentum of the crowd would sweep him along if only he could join the stream of people rushing for the stairs. 

He never did join them, though. 

Someone Apparated right in front of him to block his path. 

A white face. Long, black hair. 

And features he recognised. 

Features he hated, absolutely _hated._

"Well, well," said Bellatrix Lestrange in her cruel voice. "Look what we have here. _Harry Potter._ " She gave a harsh laugh. "Oh, now that's good. What's the matter, Potter?" 

Harry felt weak, dizzy, and disoriented, but he had enough presence of mind to reach for his wand. His pocket was empty, though. 

"Oh yes, I _Accioed_ that straight away," mocked Bellatrix. Only then did Harry see that she was holding his wand in her other hand. "Don't tell me you never noticed?" 

_Think, think, think,_ Harry told himself. It was surprisingly difficult. A rush of adrenaline into his bloodstream meant he couldn't feel his head bleeding any longer, but it hadn't made him any more clear-headed. The world was still trying to spin around him; he couldn't even feel the walkway beneath his feet. 

"Excuse me," he croaked, vague memories floating up. Lunch. A handsome man calling him by another name. "My name's Jonathan, and if you don't mind I need to get off the bridge before it collapses completely." 

"Oh, no danger of that now that I've found more challenging prey," purred Bellatrix, stepping closer. "What's the matter, Harry? Are you so oblivious to the ebb and flow of magic that you don't even realise _your glamour has fallen?_ Oh, _yes,_ you look like yourself, all right.Your scar's even on display, though it looks like you tried to hide it behind a smudge of something? Whatever it was, you've wiped it away." Bellatrix licked her lips. "Your little charm made me aware there must be a wizard nearby, but I had no idea it would be _you..._ on your own in London, are you? My, this is quite a stroke of luck." 

The longer she talked, the more Harry felt like he was coming back to a full awareness of himself and his surroundings. He could hear the crowd, but it was distant now. He was with Bellatrix, and he understood what she was saying, though at first her talk of glamours had all but baffled him. That was right, though. He'd worn a glamour, and the shock of his injury must have jarred it loose... 

He was wandless, and a Death Eater knew who he was... 

But he wasn't helpless; the one bit of wandless magic he could manage was Apparition. Harry focussed his energies the way he'd been taught and tried to force himself through a narrow tube that would end back at his hotel. 

He couldn't reach his magic, though. It danced tantalizingly out of reach. Harry tried again, this time closing his eyes so he could concentrate better, but the power he could feel inside him only seemed to withdraw further. 

"Never heard of anti-Apparition spells?" jeered Bellatrix. 

Harry ground his teeth together, realising he should have known she'd think of that. But he wasn't defeated yet. He had more than one trick up his sleeve, or rather, in his pocket. Harry tried to keep her talking as he slid a hand downward. That was right, keep her talking, buy time, distract Bellatrix so he could get away. 

"Wrecking bridges for sport, Bellatrix?" Harry asked, contempt dripping from every word. "Serving Voldemort's not as glorious as you once believed, is it now--" 

By then, his hand had reached the handkerchief Severus had given him the day they'd gone to Norway together. It seemed a lifetime ago, now, but he still remembered the instructions precisely. Ready the Portkey by unfurling it. Say the spell that would activate it. 

Harry yanked the handkerchief out and flicked his wrist in an arc so the cloth would unfold, even as he was shouting the spell that would take him to a safe house, away from Bellatrix, away from the bridge which even now was still shuddering under his feet. 

He was quick, as any Seeker should be, but Bellatrix was quicker still. 

" _Incendio_ Portkey!" she screamed, at the same moment Harry was shouting, "Quidditch captain!" 

He felt the hook latch on behind his navel, felt it start to jerk him towards safety and rescue. 

In the next instant, he was holding nothing but ash. The remains of the handkerchief crumpled in his hand and fell to the pavement below. 

The hook behind his navel abruptly dissolved. Harry looked around with horror, for he hadn't moved an inch. He was still on the Tower Bridge, facing Bellatrix Lestrange. 

And now, she was cackling like a woman deranged. 

Harry tried to escape the Muggle way, then, whirling on a heel and running away. Why hadn't he just shrunk his broom so he could keep it with him? What matter if the process made the Firebolt slightly less Quidditch-worthy? It wasn't like he was ever going to play Quidditch again, was it? 

_"Petrificus Totalus!_ " shouted Bellatrix after him, and Harry found himself crashing forwards onto the hard ground, his forehead feeling like it might have cracked as it thudded into concrete. Another spell flipped him over onto his back, the back of his head striking the concrete as well. 

Stiff as a board, frozen in place, he couldn't even blink when the image of Bellatrix Lestrange came into his line of view. 

"Oh, you are a stubborn one," she said as she leaned over and _smiled._ "But you're caught now, and it's time I paid you back for that attempted _Cruciatus_ you threw at me two years ago. I hear it's much more painful when you can't even thrash." 

Her wand swam into view. 

"Time to die, Potter," she snarled. "But first... you'll suffer. _Crucio!_ " 

The world exploded in agony. Bellatrix had been right; _Cruciatus_ did hurt one hell of a lot more when you were trapped for it, held immobile. Harry couldn't even scream. 

But perhaps that was a mercy, after all. 

The last thing Harry saw before he blacked out from the pain was the face of Bellatrix Lestrange, coming closer and closer until it seemed the whole world was made of nothing but evil. 

  
  
  
  


**Friday, June 12, 1998 ---- 7:18 p.m.**

Harry's dreams were filled with endless corridors leading nowhere, with a black-haired man who offered him to take him to a film, only to back away and drawl that there were dark forces everywhere. Harry would just have to stay in the dungeons, he said. Forever. 

_No_ , Harry shouted, so angry that he reached for his wand. But when he drew it forth, it was a light sabre instead. 

The dark-haired man didn't seem to notice it. He was saying now that Blackwell's was having a three-for-two sale and he hoped he'd see Harry there. Harry, however, had already started swinging his light sabre and couldn't stop it in time. Richard vanished into a heap of empty clothes just as Obi-wan had. 

_"NO!_ " Harry yelled again, sounding exactly as Luke had. 

And then Voldemort was there, breathing like an asthmatic. He lifted a light sabre which transformed into a wand as he wielded it. But when he spoke it was Bellatrix's voice that came out. 

_"Crucio--"_

Harry came awake thrashing, flailing, trying to escape the pain coursing like acid through his veins. It was eating him alive from the inside out, and he had to get away from it. But he could barely move. Each time he tried, some force snapped him back down, like a rubber band had been stretched to its limit and then released. 

He couldn't move now, except to shift position slightly; clearly, some spell was restricting almost all movement. Not _Petrificus._ This felt entirely different, even through the sickening waves of pain that filled him. Harry felt like an oversized gong someone was striking hard, again and again. Each successive surge of agony built on the last one, adding up to the sort of pain that truly would require purest hatred to fuel it. 

" _Finite Incantatem,_ " Bellatrix finally whispered. 

The worst of the agony vanished, but it left behind an echo that kept washing through him, like that gong was still vibrating. Harry had to struggle to so much as gain his breath. 

"You look terrible," Bellatrix said, leaning over him. "Your eyes are bloodshot. My, my. Too much strain for you?" 

Harry tried to lunge upwards, but the sticking spell kept him from moving more than an inch or two before he was abruptly snapped back down to.... a bed, he dimly realised. By twisting his head slightly to the left and right, and straining his peripheral vision as well, he could see that he was in a grotty little room. Harry somehow doubted it was anywhere near London. 

He returned his attention to Bellatrix, studying her as he took stock of his situation. He was wandless; he remembered that much. He also recalled trying his best to Apparate, and failing. He tried again, anyway, and felt his magic sliding out of reach. 

Bellatrix laughed softly, the sound of it so ominous that it raised the hairs on Harry's arms and legs. 

"There's no way out, Harry," she mocked, her long hair swinging so that it brushed across his face when she moved. Harry couldn't help but shudder. How could it be that black hair was so utterly appealing when it was on Richard or Severus, yet so repulsive when attached to her? 

"Oh, _Severus,_ " she crooned, her long nails reaching out to stroke his arm, then. "That's just fascinating. Severus... I always did think his answers to the Dark Lord's questions were a bit _too_ glib. Too convenient, all that. And now I find you've apparently some... affection? For Severus. Isn't that sweet." 

"He doesn't know!" Harry insisted, horribly aware that he should have started Occluding long before she'd had a chance to see anything interesting in his mind. He started now, and tried not to think about how Severus would kill him for a lapse like that. 

But of course, Severus wasn't going to have a chance to kill him, was he? Bellatrix, or more likely Voldemort, was going to. Unless Harry found a way to get himself out of this mess... 

Bellatrix, Harry quickly realised, wasn't a very powerful Legilimens. She hadn't reacted to Voldemort's name, at any rate. She did know he was Occluding, though. 

"So _he's_ taught you, has he?" she murmured, stroking her nails across his cheek, now. The first pass was gentle. The second, painful. The third time, Harry could feel his flesh tearing. 

After _Cruciatus,_ though, it was as if he were feeling someone else's skin being gouged away. Harry was strangely disconnected from the pain, though he could certainly describe it in detail if he wished. 

He didn't. 

"Answer me," hissed Bellatrix. "He's an Occlumens who's tricked his way into the Dark Lord's favour, isn't he?" 

"I've no idea!" Harry swallowed, and got the rest of it out, hoping his voice was at least remotely convincing. "Look, I don't know anything! I don't know _him,_ I mean, not as anything more than a teacher!" 

Bellatrix softly laughed, but the humour didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, really. Do you want to stroke your fingers through Dumbledore's hair, too?" 

Oh _God,_ why hadn't he started Occluding sooner? _Cruciatus_ was no excuse. "Look, I do think about him," Harry said, desperate to convince her. He tried to summon up the disgust he'd once felt at the thought of being touched by Severus. Odd how difficult it was to really remember that, now that everything had changed. "I fantasise, all right? He's.... I don't know. Magnetic or something. But those are just fantasies! I'd never do anything, not with _him!_ He's a filthy Death Eater!" 

She didn't appear to even notice the insult to herself. Or perhaps she didn't care. "Oh _yes._ Severus Snape does have a certain... presence. Quite odd in a half-blood." Her voice grew jeering then, though Harry was certain she hadn't read his mind. His expression, though... he hadn't schooled it quite quickly enough. "Oh, you didn't know about his Muggle father. So Severus doesn't tell his little paramour everything." 

"I'm not his paramour!" 

"Why should I believe that? You're eager enough to defend him." 

"I'm not defending him, for God's sake!" Harry yelled, struggling again to lift his body off the damned bed. The spells on it held him tight, though. 

Bellatrix slapped his face. Hard, her palm stinging against the place where she'd gouged him. "Then who taught you to Occlude so well, eh?" 

Harry thought of saying that Dumbledore had, but then a better idea occurred to him. "Same person who taught me Parseltongue. Yeah, I ended up getting a lot more than a scar all those years ago." 

"I think you're lying," Bellatrix whispered, leaning close again, this time so close that Harry could smell her breath. He wanted it to be a reflection of her soul, rank and fetid, but instead it just smelled faintly of parsley. 

"I think you know a good deal more about Severus, even if you've been taken in by those pureblood airs he likes to put on. The Dark Lord will be pleased with me when I deliver you, but how much more if I can also bring him proof Severus Snape's treachery? Let's just see, shall we? We'll find out what it takes to make you tell me everything you know about _your teacher._ Because if I can break you, then the Dark Lord surely will as well." 

With that, she smiled, the expression one that would be loving and tender on anyone else. Combined with the malevolence in her eyes, however, it just looked evil. 

Bellatrix stood up straight and pointed her wand. 

And with that, Harry's torment began anew. 

  
  
  
  


**Friday, June 12, 1998 ---- 7:47 p.m.**

He lost count of how many times Bellatrix cast _Cruciatus_ on him. He certainly couldn't tell how much time had passed, or even list the other curses she flung at him in an attempt to make him talk. 

During his more lucid moments, in between bouts of bone-crunching agony, Harry was actually grateful that the pain was so extreme. There was no question of his Occluding while his body was trying to double up in seizures, while he was fighting the restricting spell still snapping him back down to the bed every time he managed to move. But with so much pain coursing through him, there was no question of his thinking of anything he shouldn't, either. He couldn't think of Severus, or anyone else, not while it felt like his every cell was exploding within him. He understood, now like never before, just why the Longbottoms had lost their reason. 

It was afterwards when he had to be careful. When Bellatrix paused to let him catch his breath, and watched him through narrowed, beady eyes. _Then_ he had to start Occluding, had to remember to do it the moment the pain ebbed. Sometimes he couldn't get there, couldn't focus his energies. 

So he did what he could, and placed himself a month backwards in time, and let himself feel hatred and fear and disgust for Severus. Unlike before, this time it wasn't even hard. Caught in the lingering ebb of _Cruciatus_ , all he had to do was think of Severus as a nameless, faceless Death Eater, and he would be filled with negative emotions both on the surface of his mind, and deep inside as well. 

It made Bellatrix angry, Harry knew. _That_ wasn't what she wanted to see. She seemed to be carrying out some sort of vendetta against Severus. In fact, Bellatrix seemed more determined to incriminate Severus than gain glory by being the one to hand Harry Potter over to Voldemort. But of course, she believed she could do both. 

And Harry was starting to believe it too, as he lay there suffering, sure he must be bleeding from a thousand wounds, though really, it was only his head that had been physically injured... and that had happened back on the bridge. Bellatrix hadn't touched him, not really. She preferred to let magic do her dirty work. 

She was powerful, more so than Harry remembered from their duel at the Ministry, and Harry despaired. Nobody was coming to rescue him; he knew that. Nobody even knew he was in danger. Snape and Dumbledore both believed he was safely ensconced at the Dursleys. As if he'd ever been truly _safe_ at the Dursleys... 

But it was up to him to free himself, and it was becoming increasingly clear that he _couldn't._ That he had no hope. No matter how he struggled, no matter how he drew his energies together and decided he would _make_ it happen, he couldn't Apparate. Any more than he could move more than an inch from the surface of the damned bed, which always snapped him back, the rebound of it actually painful in of itself, it was so violent. 

"You really are a stubborn one," crooned Bellatrix after what seemed like hour past hour of unrelenting torture. She was sitting by him then, her hip brushing his side, her hand stroking over his cheek in a parody of loving-kindness. "Why don't you just tell me what you know of Severus, Harry?" 

"He's a Death Eater; that's what I know," rasped Harry, his throat feeling like sandpaper from all the screaming. 

Her index finger began to trace his scar, over and over. "Oh, Harry. He's not. I've known for years that he's not; I just need the kind of proof the Dark Lord will respect. And come now, you wouldn't find yourself attracted to a Death Eater, would you? You, the standard bearer of the light?" 

Panic clawed at his innards. "No, I wouldn't! Because I'm not... _attracted_ to him, all right? I hate him! They're just fantasies, you hag!" 

Her finger shifted so that it was her sharp nail tracing his scar now. More than tracing it. Cutting it anew into his forehead. "Oh, Harry. Tell the truth." She leaned closer again, her breath brushing against his mouth this time, her tone seductive and wheedling, all at once. "Tell the truth and I'll put an end to this." 

_You'll put an end to me, you mean,_ Harry thought, though by then he was Occluding again and she shouldn't see it. 

"Stubborn, so stubborn..." Bellatrix said in a musing voice, as though wondering what to do next. 

A new sound caught Harry's consciousness. A door, creaking open on its hinges. 

Severus, come to save him.... 

But no, Severus didn't know where he was, didn't even know he needed saving... 

"I thought I told you I didn't wish to be interrupted," snarled Bellatrix, whirling as she sat on the bed. Now Harry could only see her back. He strained upwards to find out who else had entered the room, but the bed mocked his efforts. 

"The outside wards need strengthening," a man's voice said. Harry didn't recognise it, though in some ways it reminded him of Wormtail's obsequious approval-seeking tones. Younger, though... "Muggles are beginning to stop by the building. I think they're hearing things." 

Bellatrix stood, her robes swishing. "If the wards need strengthening, Talmadge, then why didn't you strengthen them?" 

_Talmadge... Talmadge..._ Harry had never heard the name before. 

"We...." The noise of a throat clearing. "We wondered if you'd let us have a crack at him, actually." 

_We?_ Harry's breath seemed to freeze in his throat. Just how many Death Eaters were helping to hold him prisoner? 

"No, I wouldn't let you have a _crack_ at him!" Bellatrix said scornfully. "I'm more than capable of breaking the whelp myself, or are you suggesting that you can do something I can't! Well, are you?" 

"No, no, of course not..." The sound of shuffling footsteps, the creak of the door as it began to swing closed again. 

"Wait!" The command was imperious, and even without being able to see the man, Harry somehow knew he had obeyed. "There is something you can do that I can't," said Bellatrix, chuckling low in her throat. "Well, not without a good deal of magic. But I never have much liked assuming the outward form of a man." 

She looked at Harry over her shoulder, her mane of black hair twisting like a snake as it swung around. Her smile was feral. Dangerous. _Satisfied._ "He's horror-struck at the thought of Death Eaters touching him. Having him. _Taking_ him. Or so he says..." 

Harry's body went icy all over, just one thought clanging through his mind. _No, no, no....!_

"Oh, _yes,_ " drawled Bellatrix, who'd clearly seen the fear inside his mind. "Yes, Harry. Unless you'd like to tell me now? Everything I asked about?" 

Harry struggled past his fear, his rage, his utter _loathing_ of what he knew he was facing. _Cruciatus_ seemed like child's play, now. Or at least, he knew he could endure it. "There's nothing to tell!" 

His voice broke trying to convince her, but he could tell it was a wasted effort. 

"I see. Well, I'll go see to the wards then." She turned back to face her companions. By then there were at least two; Harry could hear another set of footsteps on the floorboards. "Do your worst." 

  
  
  
  


**Friday, June 12, 1998 ---- 7:55 p.m.**

A noise as someone grunted agreement. 

A harsh command. "On your hands and knees, then!" 

And Bellatrix's tinkling laugh; she was still blocking his view of the men. "Oh, there's a sticking charm on the bed. Only affects him, of course. I'll loosen it a little. Just enough for you to move him." 

Harry felt magic washing over him and immediately lunged upward, but the bed yanked him back down. Slightly more slowly than before, perhaps, but nowhere near enough that he could hope to escape. 

And even if he could stand up, how was he going to fight his way free --without a wand-- from so many Death Eaters? 

It turned out there were only three, Bellatrix and two men. Her laugh continued as she walked the length of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Harry alone with her companions. 

"Well, well, Harry Potter," said the older of the two. Even so, he wasn't anywhere near Bellatrix's age. Early thirties, Harry would guess. He was the one who had spoken before. Talmadge, that was it. Pale brown hair, fierce blue eyes that were staring at Harry. 

"You don't want to do this," Harry said, still struggling against the bed. 

"I don't think you have any idea what I want," said Talmadge, stepping closer. "Innocent, are you?" 

"We like them innocent," added the second man, leering. He was much younger, and vaguely familiar looking. _Slytherin,_ Harry thought, trying frantically to remember anything he could. No telling what might be of use... _Beater, a couple of years ahead of Harry. Nasty, violent tactics..._

"And he doesn't like Death Eaters," continued Talmadge. "Imagine that." 

"Even better. We like them... _reluctant._ " 

Talmadge was close enough by then to touch Harry. Unlike Bellatrix, he didn't do it with obviously false affection. He took Harry's shoe off and hurled it across the room, then slid his hand straight up Harry's trouser leg as far as he could reach. 

Strong, insistent fingers rubbed the front of his thigh. 

"No!" shouted Harry, trying to roll to the side. It wasn't true that Bellatrix had loosened the bed charms, he thought with something approaching terror. It wasn't true at all! 

"I'd say he's reluctant all right," said Talmadge, laughing. "Let's get these trousers down and get him on his hands and knees. And then... well, Bella did say to do our worst, didn't she now?" 

The bed charms _had_ been weakened, he found out then. They were just weak enough that the two men could pull him into any position they liked. Hands and knees, as they'd said. Or rather, arms and knees, since his elbows were firmly glued down, as well as his chest. His arse ended up higher than his head, the position positively obscene. But there wasn't a thing Harry could do about it. He was as stuck as before, able to move only slightly, his forearms and lower legs stuck like glue to the horrid mustard-yellow coverlet. 

His trousers and pants were yanked down to his knees, his legs were spread. Then the one called Talmadge was behind him, saying something about there being no need for lubricant since after all, this was supposed to make him want to talk. 

Harry didn't talk, though. He screamed. 

  
  
  
  


**Friday, June 12, 1998 ---- 9:23 p.m.**

"Ready for another go-round?" The younger man slapped Harry's arse hard. By this time, however, Harry didn't even wince. 

"Well?" The man hit Harry again, that time with his fist, hard enough to knock him off balance. The bed, of course, yanked him back into the position the men had wanted. "You look a little worse for wear. But you're _Harry Potter!_ You can take more, can't you, Potter?" 

A low moan of pain broke across Harry's bleeding lips. 

"Shut up, Bole," said Bellatrix as she came in and shut the door. "Good thing I did augment the wards. The two of you have really put him through his paces. It's a wonder he can still groan at all." 

"We were just about to get started again," said Bole in a disgruntled voice. 

Talmadge had more brains than to talk back to Bellatrix Lestrange. "We'll leave him to you then, shall we?" 

Bellatrix waved her hand in an irritated motion. "Just get out. Both of you." 

When you're in enough pain, Harry realised then, there was no room left inside you for embarrassment. There he was, bare arse sticking high in the air, legs spread obscenely wide, his cock and balls no doubt on full display as they hung limply beneath his body... but all of that meant less than nothing. 

All he cared about was getting away. 

And getting back to-- 

Harry clamped off his thoughts before that one could come to a conclusion. Or rather, he veered quickly to a safer topic. _Hogwarts, getting back to Hogwarts. He wished he'd never left, wished he hadn't finished his seven years there..._

It didn't seem like Bellatrix was trying to read his thoughts though, not now. 

"Tell me about Severus," she flatly ordered, no false concern in her voice now. No mockery. She wanted answers. 

"He's a Death Eater," said Harry. Every syllable hurt. 

"I don't think so." From behind him, Harry heard a strange noise. A high whistle, as something approached his backside at top speed. Harry didn't understand... not until the pain struck, a brand of fire licking across his upper thighs. 

A whip, that was it. She'd used wordless magic to transfigure a whip. 

Another lash, and then another. Instinct had Harry swaying his arse from side to side trying to avoid the blows, but as far as he could tell, the damned whip was charmed to match his movements. 

"Tell me about Severus," she said again. 

" _He's a fucking Death Eater!_ " Harry screamed. Or tried to, rather. There wasn't much left of his voice. And then, more desperately, because surely this was a useless thing to say if ever there was one, "Stop hitting me!" 

"I don't think so," Bellatrix repeated, the words this time meaning something completely different from before. "What else is left? _Cruciatus_ didn't seem to mean much to you. And I should have known Talmadge would be useless. We'll see if raw open wounds--enough of them--convince you to be a bit more forthcoming." 

Three more lashes, more vicious than before. Harry found enough strength to twist his head around. 

Oh, God. The fucking whip had glass or something embedded in it, all along its length. It came at him again, looking like it was going to hit his face. Harry ducked and ended up with his cheek stuck to the damned bed, his arms cradled over his head to protect it. But of course, wherever his skin was touching the bed, he was practically glued down. 

"Do you like to bleed, Harry?" Bellatrix asked, but not sarcastically. It was more like she genuinely wanted to know, like she couldn't figure out why else he wouldn't just denounce Severus to escape from this. "Your arse is like ground meat, you realise. Ready to talk?" 

Harry bit his lip and remained silent. 

Bellatrix made an impatient sound and abruptly shoved him straight down onto the bed. Now Harry was stuck to it from toe to forehead, his position twisted and awkward. Apparently it didn't suit Bellatrix. The invisible glue holding him eased up, very slightly. Bellatrix wasted no time. She flipped him over onto his back and dragged his legs straight. 

The pain of his arse landing on the coverlet was unbelievable. Literally. Harry went light-headed, and all at once felt like he might vomit. He almost hoped he would. Perhaps he'd choke on it and it would all be over. 

Except, that would leave the wizarding world without its hero. 

Bellatrix hoisted her robes to her knees and straddled him, sitting atop his thighs. The additional pressure on his mangled, bleeding backside made acid surge up into Harry's throat, scalding tissues already scraped raw from his screaming. 

The witch smiled, this time in clear mockery. "I wouldn't foul my body with your limp little half-blood cock. I just think it's time to make you talk." Her voice dropped an octave as she leaned forward, balancing herself on one splayed palm, and began to unbutton Harry's shirt. She kept talking as she moved steadily down the row of buttons and parted the fabric to reveal his lightly tanned skin. "Something tells me you don't like to be mutilated. You didn't like the Dark Lord leaving his mark on you. I warrant you'll like mine even less." 

Harry's eyes filled with dawning comprehension, though he didn't really understand quite what she meant. He was getting a whiff of it, that was all. A foul whiff. 

"I'm going to slice off your nipples," Bellatrix announced, as casually as if she were announcing a trip to Paris. "And after that, I'll chop off your balls one by one, and if that doesn't work, your cock. But I think you'll talk long before it comes to that." 

She lifted the scourge she'd been using, and as she stared at it, an unvoiced spell in her eyes, the whip became a gleaming dagger at least six inches long. 

"Where to carve first?" mused Bellatrix. "A test cut is in order, surely. To get your attention. Ah, I know." 

Without warning, she reached out and slashed his face open, slicing straight down from his cheekbone until she'd nearly reached his jaw. 

Harry howled. 

"Seems sharp enough." Bellatrix's teeth glinted in the dim lamplight. "Are you certain you wouldn't like to start talking?" 

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming again, then wished he hadn't. The movement flexed the injured side of his face and made pain flare anew. 

"Ah, well. You're stubborn." 

Bellatrix moved to balance herself differently, then leaned down and put the knife against Harry's left nipple. 

Fireworks exploded inside Harry's brain. That nipple was for Severus, for his mark. Bellatrix Lestrange wasn't just threatening Harry Potter any longer, she was threatening _Cambiare Podentes_ itself. Harry couldn't let himself be castrated! He had to come for the invocation. Three times. 

This would be the end of everything. This would make the world fall straight into Voldemort's hands. 

This would kill everyone he cared about. 

" _NO!_ " he screamed, something inside of him breaking loose. Harry lunged upward in one powerful motion. He felt the invisible bands pulling on him, trying to draw him back to the bed, but he pulled hard against them, and felt them snap. 

He knocked the knife from Bellatrix's hand, hitting her wrist hard enough to break it. She opened her mouth to scream, but the noise emerged as a mere gurgle, for by then Harry had both his hands wrapped around her slender, fragile neck, and he was squeezing for all he was worth. 

Her eyes went wide, her body flopping like a fish out of water, her hands reaching up to claw at any part of Harry she could reach. But Harry didn't feel that, not any of it. All he felt was _Bellatrix,_ her life force ebbing beneath the pressure of his fingers. He hated her, all right. His _Cruciatus_ would work this time, he was sure of it, but he wasn't going to let go of her, not even for that. 

He was going to choke her until she was dead, until her bugged-out eyes glazed over and her thrashing limbs went still. 

She was going to pay. For Sirius. For the Tower Bridge. For what she'd done to Harry in this very room, and what she'd let the others do. 

She was going to pay for all of it. 

Harry didn't ease his grip around her neck until she had. 

  
  
  
  


**Friday, June 12, 1998 ---- 9:31 p.m.**

For a long moment, Harry just sat there on the bed and stared at the body of Bellatrix Lestrange. His hands were still wrapped around her neck, he realised. But she wasn't moving any longer, wasn't resisting, wasn't reacting in any way to his death grip. 

Harry abruptly let go of her and leapt back from her body, his hands shaking as it came to him that he'd killed her. _Killed her._ Of course he'd hated her, and he'd wanted her dead, and he'd wanted to be the one do to it... but still, he couldn't quite wrap his mind around the fact that he'd actually done it and she was dead now. 

His teeth started chattering, his stomach twisting itself into a tight coil. 

_He'd killed her. He was a murderer. Like the prophecy said. Murderer or victim--_

That last word had Harry coming back to an awareness that there were at least two Death Eaters on the other side of the bedroom door. They apparently hadn't heard anything amiss, but of course he'd begun choking Bellatrix before she could scream. They might come back into the room at any time, though, a prospect which cut Harry's breath off short. He darted his glance around the room, desperate to get away before the men had any reason to look in. 

His first impression was that it was unbelievably difficult to think. His whole mind felt muddled. Pain, shock, fear... revulsion at what he'd done... he wasn't sure quite what the problem was. He just knew he had to snap out of it. 

He drew up his pants and trousers with trembling hands, biting back gasps of pain. It seemed to get worse with every breath he took. There wasn't a part of him that didn't hurt, after all those curses, but the pain in his arse was by far the most intense. All over his arse, and deep inside. He felt like he might sick up from it, and alongside that feeling was a dull wash of fear that he'd ruined everything. Why had he thought it would be such a good idea to have a few days in London? 

Well, if touring London on his own had been stupid, then standing here doing nothing was doubly so. He had to get out of this room before his rapists came back in, simple as that. 

Harry closed his eyes and tried his best to Apparate, but once again felt only that awful sensation of his magic sliding straight away from him. So, the anti-Apparition wards weren't only Bellatrix's. Her magic would have died with her. 

The window, then. Harry rushed towards it, but his foot slid across something round. He fell to the floor with a thud. As he levered himself back upwards, he saw what he'd tripped on. 

His wand. 

It must have fallen from Bellatrix when he'd attacked her. 

Grabbing it, Harry lurched toward the window again, gritting his teeth against the agony caused by any movement, and began to turn the rusted crank that would swing one half of the window open. It made an awful creaking noise as he worked it. 

"Lestrange?" It was Talmadge who was speaking, his voice sounding so close that Harry thought his heart would stop. "Is everything all right, Lestrange?" 

Harry sucked in a huge breath and turned the crank faster, his other hand gripping his wand as he tried to remember some sort of stay-out spell. Or locking. Or wards. Or-- 

But it was like his brain had frozen solid. Really, he was only thinking one thing, over and over. _Blood wards, now. Blood wards, now. Blood wards, now._

The window wasn't opening; the crank must be broken. 

But the door worked just fine. When he glanced back, he saw the handle start to turn. And that was all it took for him to give up on the crank. 

Harry threw his shoulder straight into the panes of glass holding him inside the room, as hard as he could, throwing all his weight behind the effort. With some distant part of his mind he heard a shattering noise. He dimly registered something scraping viciously across his bare chest and back as he fell through the window and kept right on falling, straight down. 

Down, down, down, until he landed on his side on a cobblestone street, his left arm striking first and making a horrible crunching noise. Oh, _God._ The pain of that was unreal, it was so sudden and intense. 

But Harry had no time to think about what had happened or what to do next. He was operating on sheer instinct. He closed his eyes and tried again to Apparate, tried to summon his energies in one burst of magic that would sweep him away from this place, wherever it was. _Blood wards, now._ That was the only thought in his mind. 

Faces appeared in the window above, but they looked distorted, like Harry was seeing them through the end of a long, narrow tube. He was being squeezed all over, the pressure so constricting he could hardly breathe, but it was a good feeling. It meant he was on his way to Surrey. 

He'd never thought he'd be so happy and relieved at the thought of Privet Drive. 

  
  
  
  


**Friday, June 12, 1998 ---- 9:34 p.m.**

He didn't make it all the way to Surrey, though. 

When the narrow tube spit him out, Harry found himself stumbling in the dark, the scent of freshly mown grass all around. It took a minute for his eyes to the adjust to the lack of streetlights, and then he saw that he was in a large field in some sort of rural district. 

Closing his eyes, he tried to Apparate again, but it was no good at all, not when he was all but falling over from exhaustion. 

Harry sank down to the ground, leaning awkwardly on a hip in order to spare his backside contact with the ground, and breathed in several bracing breaths. Each one of them made him very nearly retch, because the more he calmed down from the fall and his flight, the more aware he became of the very real pain he was in. His arm hurt so much that he was sure it was broken, but he was afraid to take a good look at it, afraid of what he'd see. The break was bad though. He knew that from the way blood was seeping through his sleeve. More blood was dripping down his face from where Bellatrix had cut him open, and still more was flowing down his chest. It was only then that he realised the window had lacerated him as he'd fallen through. The raw, open wounds on his backside were no doubt still bleeding as well. Not to mention the injuries he might have sustained inside. 

The night air seemed to drop several degrees of temperature all at once. For one horrible instant, Harry thought it meant that the two men had managed to follow him. But no, if they could track him, they would be here already. The sudden chill was from something else. Maybe he was bleeding a lot more than he'd thought. Harry cast a quick _Lumos,_ only to see that one whole sleeve of his shirt was crimson, now. His arm must be gushing blood. 

One part of him was shocked and alarmed, but another part actually found the sticky warmth strangely comforting. 

Harry had enough presence of mind to recognise that impression as dangerous. Wincing at every small motion, he started casting healing spells. He began with his arm, since that injury seemed by far the most grave. He was no medi-wizard, but the seventh-year curriculum had included some basic first aid. Harry knew how to make the wound close so the bleeding would stop, but that didn't do anything to heal his broken bone. It didn't even put it back in place, Harry realised as he gingerly felt his arm. _Oh, God._ His bone had come through his skin and was sticking out. 

The feel of it under his fingers was enough to make his chill grow suddenly worse. Trying to ignore that, Harry lowered his injured arm to rest on his legs, then cast healing spells across his chest and cheek. Looking down, he could see thin scars instead of open wounds, now. It was a good as he could manage on his own. 

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Harry twisted around so he could point his wand at his rear end and treat the injuries there as well. More attuned now to how the spell would work, this time he could feel it forcing his injuries to close over. Partially, at least, but that was better than nothing. Judging from his chest, he thought he'd either stopped the bleeding or greatly slowed it. The spell also made the very worst of his pain recede, though the sensations remaining were still fierce enough to make his temples pound. Harry drew in a deep breath, and then another, but they didn't help. 

He wasn't sure how much longer he crouched there, just sort of rocking himself, his mind blank. He only knew that time seemed to stall. At some point he came back out of it, though, and realised that he was freezing cold. And no wonder. It was late at night and he was outside, and his shirt was hardly worth the name. Wet and cold with his own blood, it was also hanging open both front and back. 

In front, because he'd never yet buttoned it since Bellatrix had undone it, and in back... he wasn't sure, actually, though he could feel a chill breeze blowing against his skin. 

Oh, the window, that was it. He must have torn his shirt on the window. 

Strange how he hadn't thought of it before. Even stranger how long he was spending thinking about it, now. Harry figured he must be in some sort of shock. He also realised, in a vague, dim sort of way, that he'd better snap out of it before he got even colder. 

Gritting his teeth as he moved, Harry slowly shrugged out of his ruined shirt. The blood on it disappeared as he transfigured it into warm blanket. He tried his best not to look at his broken arm, or think about what Severus was going to say. 

About any of this. 

A few moments under the blanket helped him stop shivering. A few more moments had him feeling stronger, though he thought he'd be wise to wait a bit longer before attempting to Apparate again. He needed rest if he was to have any hope of making it the rest of the way Surrey. It was a wonder he hadn't splinched himself, attempting to Apparate in the state he'd been in. He was lucky that all that had happened was that he'd fallen short of Surrey. 

What if he couldn't make it the rest of the way? What if he tried again and _did_ splinch himself? What if-- 

_No,_ Harry told himself. _You're not going to do this. You're going to rest until you feel stronger, and you're going to get yourself to safety, and that's all there is to it._

Harry tried his best to rest, but he didn't dare close his eyes or loosen his hold on his wand. 

He wasn't safe, not yet. He wasn't going to relax until he was.


	40. Chapter 40

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Saturday, June 13, 1998 ---- 3:55 a.m.**

In the end, Harry had to Apparate three more times before he finally made it all the way to Surrey. He rested in between, huddled in the blanket, leaning against whatever might be nearby. He kept his wand in hand, using it to renew his healing spells since Apparition seemed to weaken them. 

_Blood wards..._ that was what he thought about each time he forced himself thorough the narrow tube that was Apparition. He didn't really care where he ended up as long as it was on the Dursley property. Perhaps he'd expected to land on the front lawn and enter the house through the door. He wasn't sure; he didn't really think about it. 

It came as a surprise when he finally did arrive on Privet Drive and found himself inside the house instead of on the lawn. Just as well not to have to wake up the Dursleys, Harry thought at once. Uncle Vernon wasn't likely to take that so well. 

The room he was in was both familiar and not. The dimensions, the placement of the window... it was just as he remembered it, from summer after summer. By the light of a streetlamp, though, Harry saw that the walls were a different colour now. Lemon yellow. And the door, of course, no longer bore a series of locks. 

Aunt Petunia wouldn't need one for her sewing room. 

Because that's what this was now. It wasn't Harry's bedroom any longer, or even Dudley's second bedroom. The Dursleys had changed it over, just as Uncle Vernon had said. 

_They might have waited until they knew I wasn't coming back,_ Harry thought, though he wasn't sure why he should be annoyed. He'd always known that he was nothing but a burden and imposition to his so-called family. He just hoped his aunt didn't sew on Saturdays, because if he could just hide in here until nightfall, then everything would be all right. When he was late returning to Hogwarts, Severus would realise that something had gone wrong, and he'd look for Harry first of all in Privet Drive. 

Using his good arm, Harry dragged a half-sewn quilt off some sort of work table and slowly folded it into fourths, then sank down onto it. The floor was hard and painful even so, and when he cast another set of healing spells they didn't seem to make any difference. As far as he could tell, his injuries were as healed up as he could make them. There was nothing left to do now but wait for Severus to arrive. Severus would know what to do, would have access to whatever potions Harry needed to get past this. 

_To get past this..._

Shifting position, Harry tried slumping against the wall for a bit as he sat huddled in the blanket he'd transfigured hours ago. It felt like he'd been thinking about nothing but the blood wards all night, but now that he had finally reached them, his thoughts had broken free. 

Some, at least. 

Why had he thought it would be so marvellous to have a few days in London? He'd felt so grown up, so capable and self-sufficient, and it had all been nothing but an illusion. He _wasn't_ capable. Events tonight had proven that beyond any doubt. He hadn't even noticed that his glamour had fallen! Hadn't realised until too late just what sort of danger he was in. Hadn't used the Portkey in time. 

If only he'd been faster, he would never have been captured at all, let alone forced to his hands and knees on the horrid bed and-- 

_No,_ Harry sternly told himself. He wasn't going to think about what those two men had done to him. He couldn't. 

Just one more proof, as if he needed it, that he wasn't as strong as he'd thought. 

That he wasn't strong at all, in fact. 

Severus had been right all those times he'd scornfully referred to _Gryffindor luck_ as the main reason for Harry's triumphs, year after year. _More talented friends,_ the Potions Master liked to sneer. 

Harry'd been without his friends this time. Alone on purpose, and look at what had happened. He hadn't lasted two days on his own before he'd been captured and very nearly killed. 

Severus would say it served him right for being so stupid and reckless. 

And he _had_ been stupid and reckless, Harry knew. He hadn't understood, not really, just how much he really did need those blood wards. If he'd believed they were important, he'd never have decided he could do just fine without them. 

He obviously needed something bigger than himself to keep him safe. 

Something like _Cambiare Podentes._

It was better than blood wards, since he certainly couldn't stay inside Privet Drive for the rest of his life. Actually, now that he was out of school it wasn't even feasible. The Dursleys wouldn't have it. 

And even if they would, it was no way to fulfil that prophecy and kill the Dark Lord. 

But with _Cambiare Podentes,_ he'd be powerful enough to do just that. And right along with that power came safety, didn't it? Nobody would tangle with him once he'd got those twice-filled powers. Nobody would dare. And even before that happened, he'd have that mind-bond with Severus. He'd be able to call for help if he needed it. 

If only he'd been able to call for Severus today, out on the bridge! 

If only he could have Severus with him right now, he'd feel so much safer, even with the blood wards. 

Harry's breathing grew short as it came to him that he'd better figure out what he was going to say to Severus. If things went as Harry expected, the man would arrive shortly after nightfall. He'd come to Surrey first of all to see what was keeping Harry. And he'd know, wouldn't he, that something had gone horribly wrong. 

There wasn't anything Harry could do about that, since he couldn't heal his scars, let alone his broken arm. Severus would know something had happened. 

But he didn't have to know everything, Harry decided. Severus might think it was his business to know that Harry had been raped, and considering the requirements of _Cambiare Podentes,_ he might even be right. But none of that made any difference to Harry. He couldn't talk about it. 

He could barely even bear to _think_ about it. 

Both Harry's hands started shaking. He gasped in pain as the motion jolted his broken arm, then remembered to hold in all noise. Definitely, he didn't want to wake up the Dursleys. 

As soon as he started figuring what to tell Severus instead of what not to tell him, he was able to calm down enough to keep his hands still. So what _was_ he going to say? 

Leaving Vernon and going off into London alone. The attempt to overturn the Tower Bridge. Severus might well know of that already. He might even have known in advance that something like that was being planned. 

Trying to use the Portkey and failing. The _Cruciatus_ and the other tortures. Killing Bellatrix. Jumping out the window to get outside the anti-Apparition wards. 

But he wouldn't mention the two men, not even in passing. He'd say he hadn't seen any Death Eaters other than Bellatrix, and when Severus asked him why he'd had to jump out the window in that case, Harry would say that he thought she might not be working alone, though he couldn't be sure one way or another. 

Escaping the way he had would just seem prudent, in that case, even if he had got hurt. Better a broken arm than the alternative. 

Now that things were settled in his own mind, Harry adjusted the blanket more tightly around him, cradling his broken arm across his legs. Strange that he was still so cold. Perhaps he just needed sleep. He had to wait through the day until Severus would come, but if Harry could sleep through it, it would go all the faster, right? 

He was worn out enough to fall asleep almost at once. 

But it wasn't restful sleep at all; it was full of nightmares. 

This time, it wasn't the cemetery that haunted him. It was an upstairs room with a bed, and Death Eaters holding him down while a long-haired woman stood in the corner and laughed. 

  
  
  
  


**Saturday, June 13, 1998 ---- 8:37 a.m.**

Harry couldn't properly sleep. 

He kept waking up gasping, with clammy sweat coating his face. He would look frantically around, his heart slamming, expecting Talmadge and Bole to emerge from the shadows. But of course they never did. 

In just a few seconds Harry would remember where he was, and feel marginally better for knowing that the blood wards all around would keep him safe until Severus arrived. They wouldn't protect him from Vernon, though. They never had. 

That thought made Harry abruptly go silent and hunker down closer to the floor. Then he would realise he was trying to disappear, which was plainly impossible, and he'd relax a fraction and try to sleep again. 

Only to dream once more of those men's _hands_ on him. 

And so he'd wake again in a cold sweat. 

He wasn't sure how many times the cycle repeated, or how long he managed to sleep before the nightmares would grow too intense to withstand. When he was awake, he'd marvel that he hadn't woken his aunt and uncle yet. Luck was with him for once, it seemed. 

But his luck, as it turned out, didn't last. 

"What the dickens is going on in here?" roared an angry voice as the door was flung wide open. 

Harry looked up, his eyes bleary and unfocussed since he'd just woken up again the moment before. He was still in that half-dreaming state where the shadows looked like Death Eaters and an intruder the size of his uncle could only mean trouble. 

Harry pushed himself shakily to his feet, the fingers of his good hand wrapped tightly around his wand. But his wand still shook. 

"Potter?" bellowed his uncle, eyes bugging out a little. 

More properly awake by then, Harry lowered his wand and stumbled until he could lean against a wall. He didn't really know what to say. It wasn't lost on him that the last time he'd seen this man, he'd more or less bragged that the Dursleys would never have to lay eyes on him again. And now he needed to stay for the whole day. Or rather, however long it took for Severus to figure things out and come get him. It wasn't like Harry had a way back to Hogwarts on his own. He could take the Express, or find a place to Floo from, but it seemed too big a risk now, going out in public like that. 

Even with a glamour, and Muggle make-up besides. He felt ill now, remembering how confident he'd been that nothing could go wrong. 

"Potter?" yelled his uncle again, taking a step closer this time. 

Realising he'd been letting himself drift a bit, Harry shook his head wildly to clear it. "Yes, Uncle Vernon." 

The man's bushy eyebrows drew together. "What do you think you're doing, sneaking your way back in here?" 

Harry could have pointed out that he'd Apparated, not sneaked, but he hardly thought it was going to soften his uncle's attitude towards him. Most likely, nothing could do that, but Harry figured he might as well give it a try. Better that than have to hex his uncle. 

Whatever happened, Harry was resolved on one thing. Uncle Vernon wasn't going to throw him out of the house. Harry was staying here until Severus arrived. 

He let the blanket fall from one shoulder so that his broken arm was on view. "I ran into some trouble." 

Vernon took a step backwards, then. "I'd say so," he said, his voice gruff. "That as bad as it looks?" 

"Yeah." Harry sighed and gave up on standing, carefully lowering himself into a dainty little chair obviously designed with his aunt in mind. 

Vernon's brow wrinkled as he looked Harry up and down. He seemed to be cataloguing his injuries, perhaps trying to figure out exactly what had happened, but before he could say anything further, Aunt Petunia was poking her head into the room. "What was it, Vernon?" And then, in tones of utter shock, "Harry?" 

"Yeah," Harry said again. Realising he was about to drop his wand, he tightened his grip again. It didn't help much, though. He still really wondered if he was about to faint. 

Heels clicked on the wooden floor as his aunt took three steps forward. "What on earth happened to you? Oh my God, is that your _bone_ there?" 

Harry weakly nodded. Then, because that seemed so inadequate to explain the state he was in, he murmured, "I fell out a window." 

"Looks more like you were in a knife fight to me," Vernon said, his hard eyes staring at Harry's cheek. 

"That was why I fell," said Harry, latching onto the explanation. 

"No flying car to catch you this time?" Vernon's thick lips curled in disgust. "No broomstick?" 

"Magic can't solve everything." 

"Don't you say that word in my house!" thundered Vernon, taking a step closer. "Don't you throw that in our faces again, boy! Not as if you have much cause to be proud of it, anyway, is it? Freakishness got your parents killed and from the looks of you, it hasn't done you much good, either, has it now?" 

Harry glanced up, tired. Unlike so many other times when his uncle's words had made his blood boil, now they touched a chord, somewhere deep inside him. "No, it hasn't," he said, his voice quiet. 

The simple answer seemed to take Vernon aback. His uncle practically gaped with shock. Meanwhile, Aunt Petunia had apparently recovered from hers. 

"Vernon, get the car started," she briskly ordered. "We'll have to take Harry to hospital to have that set." 

Harry wasn't leaving the house, not even for that, but he found himself rather stunned by the offer. He was in a lot of pain, but surely not enough to make him delirious. He couldn't in his wildest dreams imagine the Dursleys going out of their way for him. It struck him suddenly that that Aunt Petunia must need someone to dote on, which could only mean one thing. "Dudley's moved out, then?" 

Her eyes grew misty. "We sent him on a tour through Europe, just like we always planned. I miss him, so terribly!" she said, wiping at her face. "I write him every day, but it doesn't help!" 

Harry didn't know what to reply to that, since he was frankly grateful Dudley wasn't around. 

"Come on then," his aunt said in a tone that was more irritated than concerned, now. "I can't have you looking like this. What if someone came by and saw? We'll go to hospital straight away." 

Vernon, Harry noticed, never had gone downstairs to start the car. But that was just as well. 

Harry cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter. "Sorry to mention it again, but magic'll heal this better than a doctor could." 

Vernon's gaze shot to Harry's wand. "I'm not having any of that tom-foolery in my house! It's bad enough it looks as though you already messed about with your cheek!" 

"I thought it would be better not to bleed all over the place." 

Petunia blanched, her gaze darting to the quilt on the floor. "The hospital really would be best." 

"No." 

"Listen, boy, you'll do as you're told," erupted Vernon, which Harry thought was pretty funny, in the circumstances. His uncle didn't want to be bothered taking him to hospital, but apparently if the alternative was magic in his house, he'd make the effort to get Harry out of it. 

A chill swept over Harry as things seemed to come into sharp, clear focus for him. He had to stay inside the house, no matter what Vernon and Petunia wanted. He couldn't leave the safety of the blood wards, no matter what. 

"The doctors will wonder how this got half-healed up," Harry pointed out, moving the arm a little to draw their attention to it. Petunia looked down at the exposed bone with the skin forming more or less a seal around it, and blanched all over again. "I'll have to tell them it was magic. Everybody in Little Whinging will find out you have wizard relatives, Aunt Petunia--" 

"I don't have _wizard relatives!_ " she shrieked. "I only have you, and God knows I wish I didn't!" 

Well, at least she'd gone completely off the idea that he ought to go to hospital. 

"Look, all I want is to wait here until my teacher comes for me. Should be tonight. All right?" 

"Your teacher's coming here? Your freak teacher! What gives you the right to invite him here, I'd like to know--" 

"I didn't invite him. I'm supposed to go back to school, that's all. I had a way to get back, but it got destroyed, but I know he'll look for me here." Harry bit his lip, hoping that they'd just be decent for once in their lives, and let him stay. He really didn't want to hex his relatives. Though if that was what it took to keep himself in the one place where the Death Eaters couldn't get to him... 

"You certainly can't be wandering Surrey in the condition you're in," muttered his aunt. Harry wasn't sure if she was worried for her precious reputation or acting like a decent human being, for once. But he didn't much care. "One day only, then. You'll leave when it's dark out, is that clear? Whether this teacher of yours has come or not." 

_Oh no, I won't,_ thought Harry as he nodded in answer. 

His uncle grimaced. "Well, come downstairs then where we can at least see what you're getting up to. And put that awful wand of yours away. You don't think we want to look at it, do you?" 

Harry rose to his feet and tucked his wand away in a jeans pocket. The end of it still stuck out, but the Dursleys would just have to live with it. Every small motion hurt like blazes, and Harry remembered with a sinking feeling those lectures they'd had about magical first-aid. Numbing spells could only be applied so many times before the nerves would stop responding to them. They were really only meant to help you until you could get to a medi-witch. 

Darkness couldn't fall fast enough to suit Harry. He wished, for about the hundredth time since he'd escaped the Death Eaters, that he already had that mind bond with Severus. If only he could find some way to contact Severus and tell him to _hurry up!_ It wasn't just the pain he was in, it was the fact that he truly had no wish at all to spend any time in this house. Maybe he could send his Patronus... but no, he really didn't think a silver message would make it all the way from Surrey to Scotland. And even if it did, the mere fact of it might alert Death Eaters to the communication, and endanger Severus. 

Harry's mouth went dry with anxiety. Oh God, if Severus died, there'd be no safe place for him except right here with the Dursleys. 

His headache suddenly spiked. 

"Um, could I have a couple of paracetamol tablets?" 

"I thought _all_ you wanted was to stay the day," snarled Uncle Vernon. "And here we haven't even left the room and you're already demanding things!" 

Harry repressed his urge to yell back. It certainly wouldn't help his headache. Besides, that never had been the best way to get around his relatives. "Aunt Petunia, it's just that I'm afraid I might sick up on your paisley rug--" 

That was all he had to say. Quick as a flash she dashed down the hall to the upstairs bathroom and came back, two tablets in her hand. She didn't bother to bring him water, though. Harry got some himself after he'd slowly made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. It was a near thing he hadn't tripped on the stairs, the way his head was reeling. 

Feeling like he might collapse any instant, he stumbled into the living room and more or less fell into one of the upholstered chairs. 

_Ouch._ His backside sure complained about that manoeuvre, inside and out. 

His aunt was staring at him, but not because she'd noticed the way he'd shifted weight off his arse. "I hope you realise that you mussed the welcome-back quilt I was making for Dudley." 

"Uh..." Harry covered his lack of response by downing the tablets and drinking the entire glass of water. It felt unbelievably good sliding down his throat. He suddenly realised that he was probably dehydrated. The last time he'd had a drink had been when he'd bought that Coke right by the Tower Bridge. _Ugh._ Just the thought of Coca-Cola was sort of nauseating now, and not just because he'd drunk way too much of it in the last two days. It also reminded him of the attack. 

But nauseated or not, with all the blood he'd lost, he'd better get some more water in him. 

Not that he wanted to walk all the way into the kitchen for it, _or_ ask his aunt for another thing. If she'd been gracious about the pain tablets, maybe. Or maybe not, considering how well he knew her. 

Harry didn't really see what else to do but draw his wand and cast a summoning charm. 

Aunt Petunia screamed as the refrigerator banged open and a litre bottle of water came sailing through the air toward Harry. He caught it in his good hand and awkwardly opened it without using his left hand at all, then drank and drank and drank. 

"What is it?" yelled Uncle Vernon, rushing into the room where Petunia was standing, shaking with fury. 

"He _magicked_ the water to him!" she screamed, her voice pitched high. "Oh Vernon! It was awful, simply awful!" 

"I told you we wouldn't be having any of that funny business, not in my house!" 

Harry felt marginally better after his long drink. Enough to realise, anyway, that using the charm had probably been reckless, even if having an excuse to hex his uncle was sounding better and better. "I just wanted some more water." 

"Well, then act like a normal person and get up and get it! It's not like you have a broken leg!" 

By then, Harry's temper was really starting to fray. He flicked his wrist upward to point his wand at Vernon. "You'll have a broken leg if you aren't careful!" 

"How _dare_ you threaten me!" screamed Vernon, even as he jumped back. Harry hadn't known his fat uncle could move that fast. 

"Perhaps we should just go out for the day," said his aunt. 

"And leave this one alone in my house?" Vernon narrowed his eyes. "In fact, I don't want him in my house at all, waving that wand and throwing threats around!" 

The way Harry saw it, his options were rapidly dwindling to three. Leave the blood wards himself; that wasn't on. _Petrificus_ his family so he could stay. Or, get _them_ to leave as his aunt had suggested. 

And he knew just the way. 

"I never really told you how I got hurt. I'm under attack and this is the safest place for me." 

"I don't give a rat's arse if--" 

"For _me_ ," Harry interrupted in a loud voice. "There's nothing to stop the Death Eaters from bursting in here and killing _you._ " It wasn't true, of course, but his relatives weren't likely to know that. 

" _D- D- Death EATERS?_ " roared his uncle, his moustache jiggling, he was shouting so loud. 

Harry had forgotten how the name sounded if you hadn't heard it lots of times. 

"Yeah, and did I mention, they don't like Muggles. You and Aunt Petunia really should leave." 

"No, _you_ should leave!" Vernon changed his mind about that, though, as soon as Harry swished his wand through the air. "All right, all right," he muttered. "Come on, Petunia. We'll go somewhere for the day." 

She had enough decency to hesitate. Harry was reminded of that summer before fifth year, when Vernon had wanted to throw him out after the Dementor attack. It had been Petunia who had insisted he be allowed to stay. No doubt about it, she _was_ more decent than her lout of a husband. "Will you be all right here, if these awful... _wizards_ are coming for you?" 

Harry gave a slight shrug, trying hard not to be touched by her concern, paltry as it was. At least it was something. Vernon, he thought, was a lot easier to hate. "They can't hurt me here. Doesn't mean they won't try. But they might not even show up. Just in case though, I thought I really ought to mention it. And one way or another, I'll be gone by tonight." 

"Your teacher had better just come," said Vernon in a hard voice. 

_As if you could do anything about it if he didn't,_ thought Harry. "He will." 

"Because I don't want to see you here when we come back!" 

"Just wait until after dinner, then. And you'll never see me again! And this time, I bloody well mean it!" 

Petunia followed her husband toward the door, but before she went through it, she turned back. "If you're hungry... well, I suppose you know well enough how to take care of yourself. Oh..." She took a bottle from her dress pocket and set it down on the table by the door. "Don't take too many in a row." 

And then she was gone, and Harry heard the car engine starting up. 

He stared at the closed door, wishing she hadn't left the medicine behind, or implied he could help himself to some food. Finally, he sighed. It was a lot easier to hate her when she wasn't missing Dudley. 

But then again, she _had_ protected him when the Dementors had been ranging across Little Whinging. And today she'd helped keep him and Vernon from coming to blows. Even hearing that Death Eaters might be coming around, s _he_ hadn't needed to be threatened to let him stay inside the house. 

_I'll try to eat something later,_ Harry thought as he lifted the water bottle and took another long drink. _When I'm hungry. For now, I just need sleep... dreamless sleep..._

But without a potion to help him, there was very little chance his rest would be free of nightmares. He knew that, even as exhaustion had him closing his eyes and sinking down into slumber. 

  
  
  
  


**Saturday, June 13, 1998 ---- 7:55 p.m.**

Harry came awake abruptly to the sound of a car door slamming. For one instant, his befuddled mind thought it must be Severus arriving. Then he realised the truth. 

The Dursleys, back from their day out. 

Sighing, Harry checked his watch as he sat up on the sofa where he'd spent most of the day lying on his side. What was keeping Severus? He'd said to come back at dinnertime, hadn't he? Just how late did he think Muggles ate, anyway? 

Feeling cold, Harry shifted the blanket he'd transfigured so it would hang more around his shoulders. He had to keep his broken arm sticking out, though. Contact between the fabric and his exposed bone was excruciating, he knew by then. 

And none of his numbing spells had worked for hours. 

Petunia's heels made a noise as she approached the door, and then Harry heard someone fumbling with the doorknob and swearing. Finally, keys clinked and the door swung open. Locking the door had probably been silly, Harry knew. It wouldn't keep out wizards _or_ the Dursleys. 

But once Harry had been left alone, that unlocked door had just started staring at him until he couldn't bear it. 

"You still here?" barked Vernon the moment he'd crossed the threshold and flicked on a light. 

"Apparently." Harry slid his good hand into his pocket and slid his wand out. Not ostentatiously, though. He really wasn't trying to provoke a fight. But his uncle was unpredictable even at the best of times. If Vernon decided to start something, Harry was going to be ready. 

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy!" 

Harry shook his head to clear it. He'd spent the whole day having his rest interrupted by increasingly violent nightmares. It was a wonder the neighbours hadn't poked their heads 'round to investigate the screams. Plus, he hadn't eaten a thing. He'd summoned another bottle of water sometime after noon, but the images that kept filling his mind were so disturbing that he really hadn't felt up to facing food. 

"And don't you shake your head! Petunia and I took our time over dinner, hoping you'd be good and gone by the time we got back, and here you still sit, like you think you own the place! We agreed you'd be _out_ by now, in case it's slipped your mind!" 

"We said _by dark_ and it's not full dark out yet." 

"Close enough--" 

"Just look on the table," Harry said, too exhausted to argue further. Earlier in the day, it had occurred to him that he still had quite a bit of Muggle money that he'd never spent, and it had to be given away or destroyed before the invocation rite. He'd thought of using _Incendio,_ but the off-chance that he might set the house alight had changed his mind. And of course he knew that he could always take it back to Hogwarts and destroy it there, or even give it to Severus since originally the money had been part of a bloodline asset. 

But after Petunia's show of concern for him, feeble as it had been, Harry had been feeling a little bit sentimental. Not that living in the Dursley house had ever been anything but a trial to him... but it could have been worse. A lot worse. 

So he'd fished the money from his worn wallet and had levitated it over to the table. 

Maybe he'd just liked the idea of making her handle, making her _like_ , something that had been touched by magic. Not that he planned to mention the levitation spell, but still... 

Or maybe his motives had more to do with Vernon, with letting him know that Harry was richer than Vernon would ever be. 

Regardless of _why_ he'd done it, it was done now, and Harry was already having second thoughts. But it was too late now to back out. 

Petunia gasped when he saw the bank notes scattered on the table. 

Vernon merely grunted, and not in satisfaction. His face was red when he stomped back to Harry. "What did you do, boy, use your damned freakish powers to rob a bank? _Don't_ try to tell me you came by that money honestly! You wouldn't know hard work if it bit you! Just like your father, you are! Worthless, the whole lot of you!" 

Harry's fingers tightened on his wand as a red haze seemed to wash before his eyes. "You don't want it then?" 

"What I want is you _out,_ and out you're going, make no mistake!" 

"I think there's enough there to pay for a night's lodging if my teacher is late!" 

Vernon looked back at the money, his piggy little eyes narrowing. "Think you're clever, do you, tricking me into taking stolen money? Next thing I know the constable'll be ringing my bell!" 

"I got it from someone who loved me!" Harry shouted. "For God's sake, Uncle Vernon, I was just trying to be nice! So, take it or don't take it, but make up your mind!" 

"Oh, I'll take it!" thundered Vernon as he stomped back to the table and shoved the notes deep into his trouser pocket. Wadded up as it was, it made an ugly bulge. "But not for lodgings for tonight. I'll take it for putting up with the likes of _you_ all these years. It's not enough, mind! It's nowhere near enough! You've made us miserable since the day you were dumped on us!" 

He walked behind Harry as he talked, as though giving up and heading for the downstairs office where he often spent his evenings. 

"But it's all I'm going to get, isn't it, boy?" 

He'd stopped directly behind the chair Harry was in. Harry craned his neck to see him, and almost gasped with pain as he shifted weight onto a new part of his backside. 

"Uncle Vernon, I--" 

And that was all Harry had a chance to say. As if scenting weakness, Vernon's hand lashed out to strike Harry hard across the side of the face, and before Harry had recovered from that, he felt his wand grabbed and yanked from his hand. 

"Ha!" shouted his uncle as he came around to the front of the sofa Harry was sitting on. "So we'll have no more threats. You'll get out, boy. Out of my house. _Now!_ " 

Harry might not have his wand any longer, but he wasn't about to be bullied, even so. "I'm staying right here until my teacher comes!" 

"Stand _up_ , boy!" 

"What's _wrong_ with you?" shouted Harry. He didn't stand up, since that would put him partway to the front door. "If I leave this house I could bloody well get killed! Why do you think I came back here, if not because I almost _did_ get killed! It's the only place where I'm safe from the Death Eaters!" 

"The Death Eaters can have you!" Vernon screamed, his face almost purple by then. 

He flung the wand backwards and it clattered to the floor. Then he rushed forward, and grabbed both Harry's arms to drag him up off the sofa. 

The feeling of having his broken arm violently yanked like that was absolutely mind-shattering. Harry screamed like he'd been set on fire. 

But that didn't stop Uncle Vernon, who, dragging him by the arms, started to haul Harry towards the front door to throw him out. 

  
  
  
  


**Saturday, June 13, 1998 ---- 7:35 p.m.**

Severus checked the wall clock again, his eyebrows drawing together. The waning light outside told him that Harry should be back soon, but no matter how long he stared at the Floo, willing it to flare to life, it remained cold and dead. 

What could be keeping the young man? 

Sitting down in a wingback chair opposite the Floo, Severus tilted his head back and tried not to watch the Floo any longer. _A watched cauldron never boils,_ his mother had been wont to exclaim, though of course the saying was perfectly absurd. Cauldrons, in fact, needed to be watched. 

But not so Floos, he supposed, breathing in a deeply and trying to relax. When Harry _did_ bother to show up, Severus certainly didn't wish to appear as though he had been anxious. Or Merlin forbid, missing him. 

He'd just been missing the sex, he told himself. And that made perfect sense, of course. He hadn't indulged very often in the years since the Dark Lord had returned; it was simply too fraught with danger. And even before that, he hadn't had anything like a regularbed partner. Certainly, not one he could sleep with every night. 

And _never_ one who wouldn't turn his back on Severus the moment a better prospect came along. 

But Harry couldn't leave him, not ever. Severus had found that fact profoundly irritating at first, of course. Why would he want Harry Potter forever hanging about? 

He'd begun to see the advantages in that, though, on the very first night when he'd held Harry in his arms and felt him shuddering with arousal and then orgasm. He didn't want the young man enslaved to him... he truly didn't. But given that he would be, and there was nothing Severus could do about it... 

At least this way Severus would have something he'd never expected to have. Something he _couldn't_ have otherwise, considering his rather irascible personality, not to mention a physical appearance that left a great deal to be desired. 

Someone of his own. 

Someone who couldn't leave the minute Severus made a cutting remark. 

Someone who had to stay with him through thick and thin. 

The realisation had been exhilarating and frightening, all at once. After all, Severus' primary mode of interacting with Harry Potter in the past had been to berate and belittle him, and Severus knew better than anyone how difficult it could be to break oneself of old habits. But to treat Harry that same way once the young man was his bound lover would be nothing short of cruel, and Severus wasn't by nature a cruel man, though at times circumstances had him acting in cruel ways. 

For all their contentious past, though, Severus hadn't had any desire to abuse the young man shortly to be in his power. Even if Harry Potter was every bit as arrogant and spoiled as Severus had always assumed. 

But then, Severus had found out that Harry _wasn't._ He hadn't had anything of his parents except what was in the wizarding vault, which had remained unknown to him until he came to Hogwarts. That meant he'd spent most of his childhood thinking himself a penniless orphan, a self-image not exactly conducive to the kind of arrogance that came with wealth. And as for _spoiled..._ Harry hadn't thought he had anything of his left in Surrey. And he very well might not have, considering how his relatives had apparently never even bothered to feed him enough. Definitely, Harry Potter hadn't been spoiled as a child. From the way he talked about his aunt and uncle--not that he said very much--it was obvious that the Dursleys and Harry had had their differences. 

_You don't know much if you think differences covers it,_ Harry had even said. 

But now the young man was late coming back, a circumstance Severus had never envisioned. All he could think was that Harry must be having a better visit than expected. 

Perhaps he'd realised that with the invocation coming soon, it would likely be a long, long while before he'd see his family again. He might even have believed this was a final good-bye, and told them as much. Severus supposed that might have spurred everyone past old conflicts and resentments. Perhaps they'd all reached some sort of accord and Harry was enjoying this time with his family. That would certainly explain why he had yet to return. 

Severus' fingers drummed on the arms of his chair as he considered what to do. On the one hand, he hardly wished to cut the visit prematurely short. On the other hand, Harry _had_ already had three days to visit with his aunt and uncle. 

For all that though, Severus didn't want to deprive him of a few more minutes, not if Harry needed them. 

Realising he'd begun leaning forward in anticipation, Severus settled back in his chair again. _Ten more minutes,_ he compromised. He'd give the young man that much longer, but after that, Severus would have to go fetch him. 

Though that bore some thinking about. Severus didn't think the Dursley house was under the Death Eaters' surveillance; he frankly doubted the Dark Lord knew its location. But still, an Disillusionment charm was likely in order. Just in case things had changed. 

Severus never assumed he was entirely integrated into the Dark Lord's inner circle, much as it seemed that indeed he was. 

Ten more minutes, he told himself again. Or rather, nine now. 

After that, Severus was resolved to Floo out to the safe house, and from there Apparate to Number Four Privet Drive. He'd tell Harry that much as it might pain him, it was time to leave home. Or perhaps... time to come home.


	41. Chapter 41

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Saturday, June 13, 1998 ---- 7:55 p.m.**

A grossly fat man and an emaciated woman were climbing out of a dark blue car when Severus Apparated onto the front lawn. For one-tenth of an instant he was visible, but the couple didn't notice him. Their eyes were narrowed on the house before them, almost as if they were afraid of what might lie within. 

By the time they began to make their way up the brick walk to the front door, Severus had long since vanished from their sight. 

The house was dark inside, and at first Severus thought that must mean that Harry was off visiting friends rather than inside. But then the fat man grumbled something about _the boy,_ and Severus realised that the couple thought Harry was in there. 

Clearly, though, they hoped he wasn't. 

It suddenly struck him that here was his perfect chance to listen to Harry interacting with his family. What better way, really, to understand Harry? This was the place where he'd grown up; these were the people who had helped him forge his values. It wasn't as though Harry had been very forthcoming on his own, was it? 

And with Severus looking at a lifetime of living with Harry, he thought it would behove him to find out all he could, even if Harry wouldn't approve of the means Severus had used. But then again, Harry wasn't to know, was he? Severus would merely wait for an opportune moment, then cancel his Disillusionment charm and knock on the front door. 

The fat man seemed rather irate that he had to fish a key from his pocket. Actually, he had upwards of a dozen keys attached to a small ring. Severus thought it rather ludicrous for one to need so many, but then again, these were Muggles. 

_Harry had grown up with Muggles._

Severus had always known that, of course. He'd even thought he understood what it meant. But now, looking at the man fumble with the keys, having trouble opening his own door, he had a better sense of the implications. His own father had been a Muggle, but since Severus had seen him only rarely, he'd never had this experience of living in a world without spells or passwords. A world in which every last task had to be accomplished through laborious hand labour, or through reliance on the ugly, noisy machines that seemed almost to _breed_ , so dependent upon them were Muggles. 

And this was what Harry's world had consisted of, year after year. He hadn't even known he was a wizard. 

Severus stopped that train of thought when the door swung open. The fat man lumbered inside as if spoiling for a fight. His wife followed almost on tip-toe, and closed the door behind her, which prompted Severus to cast a quick eavesdropping spell. 

As a light went on, he became able to discern shadowy figures through the curtains across the front windows. 

"You still here?" 

It was the uncle who had asked. Or more accurately, yelled. 

"Apparently." 

Harry's dry answer made Severus smile slightly. It was the kind of reply he might have made himself. Severus trained his eyes on the source of the sound and saw a vague outline. All he could determine for sure was that Harry was sitting down. 

"Don't you take that tone with me, boy!" 

The uncle's belligerence raised Severus' hackles. Harry's answer had been perhaps not the most polite reply possible, but it surely didn't merit such a strong rebuke. 

"And don't you shake your head! Petunia and I took our time over dinner, hoping you'd be good and gone by the time we got back, and here you still sit, like you think you own the place! We agreed you'd be _out_ by now, in case it's slipped your mind!" 

Severus took a step closer to the house, shocked at not just the level of vitriol in all that, but also at the callous disregard. The aunt and uncle had gone out to dinner and not taken Harry with them? What sort of family didn't share meals? Even Severus' father hadn't been so uncaring as to leave him to dine by himself on those rare occasions when Severus would be forced to visit him. 

"We said _by dark_ and it's not full dark out yet," replied Harry in a weary voice. 

"Close enough--" 

"Just look on the table." 

Severus couldn't see well enough to know what was on the table, but he recognised the tone Harry had used. Utter exhaustion, as though he couldn't deal with a single additional problem, but he expected that he wouldn't have to, not after his uncle saw whatever Harry was trying to point him towards. 

As the uncle's huge form moved out of view, the aunt gave a gasp so loud that Severus could catch it from outside. 

Meanwhile, the uncle made a thoroughly animalistic noise, and raised his voice still further as he stomped back to the front room. Harry hadn't moved, which struck Severus as a trifle odd, but before he had a chance to reason it out, things he'd never expected to hear came pouring out the uncle's mouth. 

"What did you do, boy, use your damned freakish powers to rob a bank? _Don't_ try to tell me you came by that money honestly! You wouldn't know hard work if it bit you! Just like your father, you are! Worthless, the whole lot of you!" 

Harry had said that the Dursleys didn't know he had money, but to assume he had _stolen_ it? 

"You don't want it then?" Harry sounded more angry than exhausted then. 

"What I want is you _out,_ and out you're going, make no mistake!" 

"I think there's enough there to pay for a night's lodging if my teacher is late!" 

Severus clenched his fists hearing that. Harry was so unwanted at home that he was _paying_ them to let him stay there? Why hadn't he told Severus things were as bad as that? And what was this about his teacher coming here? 

Had Harry been waiting for him to arrive? That didn't make any sense. 

"Think you're clever, do you, tricking me into taking money you've stolen? Next thing I know the constable'll be ringing my bell!" 

"I got it from someone who loved me! For God's sake, Uncle Vernon, I was just trying to be nice! So, take it or don't take it, but make up your mind!" 

"Oh, I'll take it!" The uncle evidently did just that; his shadow moved out of sight again. "But not for lodgings for tonight. I'll take it for putting up with the likes of _you_ all these years. It's not enough, mind! It's nowhere near enough! You've made us miserable since the day you were dumped on us!" 

Not even Severus' father, hateful as he had been, had ever intimated that he deserved monetary compensation for those times when his son had come to stay with him. 

By then, Severus had heard enough. Harry wasn't just unwanted or unloved here, he was positively despised. No wonder he hadn't wanted to come back. 

Severus began walking towards the front door, determined that Harry wasn't going to spend one more minute in the company of relatives like these. As he moved onto the brick walkway, he could no longer see the shadows in the window, but he could still hear the argument raging. 

"But it's all I'm going to get, isn't it, boy?" 

"Uncle Vernon, I--" 

A thudding noise, then. Severus couldn't be sure what it was. 

"Ha! So we'll have no more threats. You'll get out, boy. Out of my house. _Now!_ " 

"I'm staying right here until my teacher comes!" 

Severus sped up. 

"Stand _up_ , boy!" 

"What's _wrong_ with you? If I leave this house I could bloody well get killed! Why do you think I came back here, if not because I almost _did_ get killed! It's the only place where I'm safe from the Death Eaters!" 

Harry had almost gotten killed? Harry had _come back here?_ Where had he gone? 

"The Death Eaters can have you!" 

_I'll never ask you to visit these people again,_ Severus vowed. _I'll never ask you to set foot in Surrey._

The uncle sounded like he truly did wish Harry dead. Even so, Severus wasn't expecting what came next. It had never even occurred to him that Harry was in any real danger inside that house. He was too used to thinking of it as a haven, and in any case, Harry was a fully trained wizard now, of age to defend himself without fear of reprisal. What could one fat Muggle uncle possibly do to hurt him? 

All Severus' assumptions met a quick end in the next instant when he heard Harry start to scream. This wasn't rage or anger loosing itself, it was a noise born of agony. 

Physical agony, too much of it for one human being to endure. 

Severus snapped his wand out and blasted the door off its hinges. Through the explosion he saw that the fat uncle was dragging Harry toward the door, as though intending to bodily throw him out of the house. And Harry looked awful. Bloodshot eyes, an open cut slashed across his face, his left arm twisted strangely, though a dangling blanket meant Severus couldn't properly see just what might be wrong. 

"Severus," Harry groaned, falling to the floor as the man abruptly dropped him. 

The blanket fell away to reveal an arm so badly broken that a bone was jutting out through the skin. 

Rushing forward, Severus gently picked Harry up off the floor, careful to touch the young man only by his good arm. Harry slumped against him, his features pale with exhaustion and pain. Severus wrapped an arm around him and held him upright, even as he levelled his wand on the aunt and uncle who by then were trying to edge out of the room and down a hallway. 

"Don't move," he said in a low, tense voice. 

"Oh God, my wand," gasped Harry. "He took it from behind. I'm sorry--" 

" _Accio_ Harry Potter's wand," interrupted Severus. It came flying across the room to him at once, and since Harry looked far from able to grasp it, he tucked it into a pocket at the young man's hip. 

Harry started shaking, which made Severus draw him a little bit closer. 

The woman's expression was an odd mixture of terror and indignation, but the uncle was another story altogether. As far as Severus could tell, he was too stupid to be afraid. 

"Oh, so _that's_ how it is," he sneered as he crossed his arms and made a face of absolute disgust. "He's the one who gave you all that money, isn't he? Your own personal sugar daddy, and no need to ask what he wants in return. Damned long-haired freak, looks like a woman!" 

Severus could hardly credit that the man would spew insults at someone holding him at wandpoint, but perhaps his success at bullying one wizard had made him reckless when it came to the rest. 

"Well, I don't want money the boy _whored_ for, do I now--" 

Not knowing how Harry would react to seeing his relatives hexed was the only thing that stayed Severus' hand. He stopped listening to the insults and waved his wand an inch above Harry's arm. The break was far too severe to heal without the assistance of a medi-witch, but he did what he could to deaden the pain Harry must be in. 

Which wasn't much, as the young man was gasping out something about his own spells failing after about the fifth application. "It's all right," said Severus in as soothing a voice as he could, though when he heard himself he knew he'd failed. Rage was bubbling just beneath the surface. 

Perhaps that was what Harry heard, too. Severus wasn't sure. He only knew that the young man was suddenly slumping in his arms; only Severus' quick reflexes kept him from dropping to the floor. 

Severus easily scooped him up, holding him cradled in his arms, trying to brace the young man so that no further damage would be done to his mangled arm. 

The position made it difficult to brandish his wand in any sort of threatening manner. Vernon reacted rather predictably, Severus thought. 

"Get out!" he screamed, flinging his arm out so as to point towards the door. "And take that little nancy-boy with you! I won't have him here again, is that clear? It was bad enough when he was only a wizard, but now to find he's queer as well? A queer _prostitute,_ taking other men up his arse like he thinks he's a girl or something--" 

Truth to tell, Severus had been just seconds away from Apparating. Being ordered about like that, and by a _Muggle_ , didn't sit well with him, though. He levelled his black eyes on the red-faced man, and spoke in a low, menacing tone. "Your suppositions are unwarranted, to say the least. That money is part of the boy's inheritance _from his father._ " 

Petunia gasped again, and that time Severus heard the avarice in it. "That James Potter fellow was rich? Lily married money?" 

"Harry is equally rich," announced Severus, still in that same cold, hard tone. "He is the sole possessor of a large vault filled to overflowing with gold. More money than you could amass in a hundred lifetimes." Thinking to make them regret the day they'd shoved a baby in a cupboard, he decided to rub a hefty dose of salt into the wound. Never mind that he didn't know Harry well enough to make such suppositions. "And he would have shared it all with you, gladly, had you ever once given him reason to feel welcome here in his own home. You could have been rich beyond your wildest dreams." 

Petunia went white. Then, in the manner of one convincing herself of something, she rallied, "We'd rather have a decent sort for a nephew than piles of money, anyway! Isn't that right, Vernon?" 

"Just so," said the fat man with a superior air. "I'd have thrown him out long ago if I'd known he was going to end up a filthy little cocksucker--" 

"You appear to never have heard of wandless magic," said Severus, narrowing his eyes. 

"I... _what?_ " 

There were a great many things Severus longed to do to this pair, but this was hardly the time. He settled for merely murmuring one spell before he Apparated. A fitting spell, considering all the uncle had said on the subject of Harry's money. 

Severus set the bank notes alight, and left the man screaming in shock as the contents of his pocket went up in flames. 

  
  
  
  


**Saturday, June 13, 1998 ---- 8:06 p.m.**

Apparating to the safe-house didn't jolt Harry from his unconscious state, but flooing back to Hogwarts, Severus knew, almost certainly would. He wished there were some other way to return, but with the state Harry was in, they couldn't afford any delay. 

Severus stepped into the Floo in the safe-house, grateful that Albus had possessed the foresight to connect it not just to Severus' quarters but also to the Hogwarts infirmary. 

"Hogwarts' Hospital Wing!" he shouted, pulling Harry more tightly to him, the better to brace him against the whirling journey to come. 

The moment they stopped spinning, Harry jerked wildly in Severus' arms, screaming for someone to stop, his green eyes almost crazed when they snapped open. He craned his neck to and fro, almost as though seeking enemies in the corners. 

Then reason seemed to return. He slumped and stopped fighting Severus' hold on him. "Oh, _God,_ " he groaned, closing his eyes again. "I... I was starting to think you'd never..." 

"Shh," said Severus, furious with himself though he tried not to show that. He should have known better than to send Harry to stay with those people. It was true that Harry hadn't been forthcoming about quite how ugly his home life had been, but he'd said enough that Severus should have read between the lines. A quick trip to Surrey to ascertain he had no possessions left would have sufficed. There had been no need to insist Harry stay there three days. 

But then again, Harry hadn't stayed there three days, had he? He'd _come back,_ he'd said. And the Death Eaters might kill him if he left, he'd said. Harry hadn't stayed within the safety of the blood wards. 

Another kind of fury gripped Severus, then. 

But this wasn't the time to vent it. 

"Where's Pom- Pom- Pomfrey?" stammered Harry, his teeth chattering. 

Snape very gently lowered Harry onto a hospital bed and cast a warming spell across him. Better that than give him a blanket that might touch his broken arm. He knew it was probably useless, but he went ahead and tried the _Sansdoleur_ spell once again. 

"St- st- still hurts." Harry blinked then, and when he opened his eyes his pupils were like pinpricks. "You're a Potions Master," he said, in the tone of one who has just realised the fact. He stammered less as the warming spell began to take effect. "I n- need a potion." 

"You need more than a potion. I'll get Poppy." 

But the medi-witch, as it turned out, had already left Hogwarts for the summer. When Albus said as much through the Floo, Severus wanted to strangle her. Never mind the fact that most years, he was equally eager to leave the castle and his memories of student idiocy the instant term ended. 

"Well, _get_ her," he shouted at the headmaster, who by then had stepped into the hospital wing. " _Now!_ " 

Albus glanced just once at the young man curled on his side on the bed. He didn't waste time asking questions, or even offering sympathy. Instead, he drew his wand and with a raw gathering of power Severus could almost see, it was so tremendous, sent a silver phoenix shooting out the end of his wand. The moment that was done, Albus was hurrying over to Harry's side. 

That was where Severus wanted to be, but he could ill afford the luxury. Harry was in too much pain to let it continue until Poppy made her way back. He summoned the strongest healing potion on hand, and measured out a double-dose, wishing he could give Harry even more. But that wasn't wise and he knew it. 

Rushing over to Harry himself, he slipped a hand behind the young man's back and helped him sit up enough to drink it. 

For once, the young man didn't so much as complain about the foul taste of one of Severus' brews, though he did cough and sputter a bit as he struggled to swallow. 

Harry's cheek had been dripping blood ever since Severus had arrived in the infirmary; he could only deduce that Apparating and Flooing had undone some of the healing the young man had been able to apply earlier. Now, however, with a proper draught inside him, the injury began to close over again, Harry's skin knitting itself together until all that remained of the injury was a thin scar down one side of his face. 

His arm was likewise healing over further, though with the bone still in a horribly wrong position. 

Severus grimaced. Much as he might wish otherwise, sometimes even the finest of potions was no substitute for a trained medi-witch. 

"I killed Bellatrix," Harry gasped out, beginning to shake. This time it didn't look as though cold was causing it. "I... oh, _God..._ " 

Now Severus was the one going cold. _Bellatrix_ had gotten her hands on Harry? His Harry? He knew from far too many Death Eater meetings just how vicious she could be. She loved torture. Thrived on it. 

Albus' old blue eyes were filled with worry as he glanced at Severus, but his reply to Harry was soft and soothing. "That's all right, Harry my boy. No one can blame you for using _Avada Kedavra,_ not in circumstances like these. I'll personally assure the Minister--" 

"No, no." A dull flush came up under Harry's skin. "No spells. Couldn't. She had my wand." 

"That's fine too," Albus said, still in that gentle tone. 

Harry's eyes suddenly filled with tears. "Not fine! _Not!_ I k- k- killed someone!" 

Severus knelt down to put his face more on a level with Harry's, and spoke in a firm tone. "You're not to worry about that, not now. We'll talk later. At the moment what I want to know is whether you are in pain anywhere besides your arm." 

As a diversion, the tactic worked well. To Severus' eyes, Harry stopped thinking about his horror at the knowledge that he'd taken life, and instead began considering the state of his own body. "Good potion," he finally said. 

"Where else were you hurt, Harry?" pressed Albus. "You'll need to tell Poppy." 

The young man visibly swallowed, the green of his eyes darkening. Thanks to the healing potion, the whites were no longer bloodshot. "Um, well it seems all healed up now. I mean, except my arm." His gaze darted to the open door, almost as though he were afraid Bellatrix might come strolling through it. Then he appeared to shake that off to say, "Um, _Crucio._ An awful lot of it. And plenty of other curses." 

Severus had a feeling there was something Harry wasn't telling him, but now that he had a chance to look over the young man properly, he understood what it must be. The back of Harry's jeans was stained with blood, and he could see thin marks--healed over now--extending above the waistband. 

She'd whipped the young man. 

She'd whipped his Harry. 

Severus was torn between satisfaction that Bellatrix Lestrange was dead already, and a potent longing to have her at _his_ mercy for a good long while. 

Gingerly, as though expecting excruciating pain, Harry slowly rolled over onto his back. It didn't seem to hurt much, though. Severus saw the young man give a sigh of relief. 

His broken arm resting at an odd angle on the bed, Harry drew in a long breath and closed his eyes. "How long until Madam Pomfrey can get back?" 

"She should be here soon," Albus said, reaching out to stroke Harry's hair. It made Severus long to shove the old man aside. _He_ should be the one offering comfort. But Poppy might return at any moment, and Severus could ill afford to be seen being too conciliatory with Harry Potter. If they were assured of privacy, it would be different, he grimly told himself. 

"It might be best for you to be unconscious when she has to work on your arm," said Severus, offering the only kind of comfort he felt prudent. "Especially given that your ability to take advantage of numbing spells will not have returned by then." 

Harry nodded, the motion weary. "I'd rather not be awake when that bone goes back in, anyway. I... yeah, all right." His voice weakened as he went on. "Dreamless Sleep? Cause I keep seeing..." His voice fell off, but Severus had no problem finishing the thought. 

_Bellatrix._

"And I haven't slept," Harry went on after gulping slightly. "Not since Thursday night, not properly. I mean, after the Dursleys left me alone this morning I did try, but the paracetamol didn't really do enough--" 

Severus summoned what was needed and poured out the appropriate amount of draught as he spoke. "Your relatives should be drawn and quartered. _Slowly._ " 

Harry stiffened. "You didn't, did you?" 

Severus handed Harry a dose of Dreamless Sleep. Then, because he couldn't resist an impulse to feather a touch across Harry's brow, he laid his palm there as though to check him for fever. Maybe it wasn't the imminent arrival of Poppy Pomfrey that he found so inhibiting. Maybe he just didn't care to have Albus see him looking like he was soft on Potter. 

"No," he finally answered. "I was too intent on getting you out of there to expend much energy hexing your relatives. Though neither did I let them keep the funds you tried to give them." 

The young man flushed, perhaps remembering the interpretation his horrid uncle had put on the money. "Oh. Well... that's just how they are. It doesn't mean anything," he said, as though trying to shrug it off. 

Severus didn't agree, but it wasn't the right time to broach the matter. _Later,_ he told himself. He helped the young man sit up enough to drink the sleeping potion. 

Harry, he noticed, didn't meet his eyes again. 

  
  
  
  


**Saturday, June 13, 1998 ---- 8:32 p.m.**

Severus leaned back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I should go back to Harry," he muttered. 

"He's in good hands with Poppy," said Albus as he conjured a short crystal glass filled with amber fluid. He passed it across his desk to where Severus sat, his hands clenched. "As you saw. That arm will be weak for a time, but there's no reason he won't regain the full use of it." 

Ignoring the drink, Severus rose to his feet. 

"Sit, Severus," bid the headmaster in a heavy tone. "He'll remain sound asleep until morning, as you well know. And if by chance he should wake, Poppy will be there to tend to him. She's more than competent, you realise." 

Severus reluctantly sank back down into his chair. 

"You're slouching," said Albus. "It looks rather petulant. I must say, it cheers me to know you care." 

Immediately straightening, Severus scowled. "I'm merely concerned as to how this might affect the invocation." 

The headmaster's voice was level. Suspiciously level. "Of course." 

Definitely, time to change the subject. Before Severus could think of a way to do so, however, Albus moved on to another topic himself. "How did Harry encounter Bellatrix Lestrange, Severus?" 

Severus' lips twisted with repressed anger. "I've no clear idea. Harry did not stay in his family home as I intended. That much is certain." Sighing, he picked up the offered drink and downed the contents. Afterwards, he kept the glass in his hands and toyed with it as a way to keep from rubbing his fingers against the mark beneath his sleeve. "I've had no summons from the Dark Lord, Albus. I can't think he knows yet about Bellatrix Lestrange's demise. Let alone who killed her." 

"She ran into Harry by happenstance, perhaps?" 

"Difficult to credit..." 

"But not impossible, given that he left the protection arranged for him on Privet Drive." 

Severus didn't much care for the way Albus said the word _protection._

"The people who live in _that house_ ," he spat, "are far, far worse than I had imagined, Albus. Harry will not be going back. Ever, is that clear?" 

The headmaster steepled his hands on his desk. "I'd be reluctant to rely on the blood wards, in any case, once Harry had bound himself to you." 

_Isn't it fortunate, then,_ Severus thought caustically, _that Podentes_ _is the more powerful spell? Else you might want to continue making use of the blood protection cast across Number Four Privet Drive!_

"It has in fact kept him alive all these years, Severus." 

The Potions Master hurriedly turned his gaze away from the headmaster's piercing blue eyes. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been careless enough to let his thoughts be seen without his knowledge. 

"You have no idea what his life was like there," Severus said, glaring down into his empty glass. The more he thought about it, the angrier he became, until he slammed his glass down onto the headmaster's desk. "It's no wonder he wandered off and put himself in Bella's path!" 

"He's more than paid for that mistake already. You must control your temper, Severus." 

"I was hardly planning to whip him as well!" 

" _You_ can do just as much damage with words, and well you know it." 

"Yes," Severus admitted, frowning. The uncle's vicious words were still ringing in his ears, but Harry's calm acceptance of them was by far the more distressing. That alone told him that what he'd seen on Privet Drive had been no anomaly. 

And what he'd seen... it explained a great many things about Harry. 

"Severus?" 

"I'll control my tongue," the Potions Master grated, regretting that when it came to Harry Potter, he'd spent years doing the opposite. "It's not lost on me that he probably regarded these few days as one final gasp of freedom. I knew he would, but I thought he'd stay with his family regardless. I didn't understand quite how unbearable his home really is." 

"If you'd told him about the arrangements, though, he might not have been so desperate for freedom." 

Severus scowled. "I'm well aware that you wanted him told. And you're aware I had reasons not to. Now that he's back, he'll know soon enough." He stood up again, that time more calmly. He still wanted to go sit with Harry. Hold his hand, perhaps. But that truly wouldn't be wise with any third party present, even one as innocuous as Poppy Pomfrey. If Severus had his way, she wouldn't even have known that Harry was in residence again. But that was plainly out of the question, now. 

Severus hoped it would be all right, then wondered if he was as paranoid as Albus liked to claim. 

Perhaps he wasn't, since despite his intention otherwise, he found himself outside the hospital wing when he was walking back to the dungeons. The doors were closed, which was a bit unusual. His curiosity piqued by that, Severus pushed on them, only to find them sealed. The staff password made them swing open wide, though. 

Harry was lying flat on his back on the bed farthest from the doors. When Severus stepped closer, he saw that the young man's eyes were closed, his breathing regular, if a tad shallow. 

"Severus?" 

The Potions Master wrapped his robes a bit more tightly around him as he turned to face the medi-witch. "Yes. It occurred to me when Mr Potter needed treatment that some of the potions in your supply closet might date from early in the school year. The Dreamless Sleep has apparently not lost its efficacy, I see." 

Poppy smiled. "Your potions do an excellent job of holding their strength." 

Severus permitted himself a thin smile. "If you make a list of the ones that have perhaps aged too long, I shall see to it that the infirmary is properly stocked come September first." 

He didn't look at at Harry again as he whirled on his heel and headed down to his own quarters.


	42. Chapter 42

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Sunday, June 14, 1998 ---- 8:03 a.m.**

"Ah, awake and alert I see," said the headmaster as he strolled into the hospital wing, his long-feathered phoenix perched on one outstretched arm. 

"Well, awake anyway," said Harry as he shoved away his breakfast. He hadn't eaten very much, but then again, he wasn't very hungry. Probably all the potions he'd had to take, he told himself. He could vaguely recall waking up several times. Somebody had been urging him to drink up. Pomfrey, that was it. 

His memory clearing slightly, Harry could remember the potions better now. Blood replenishers, and draughts to help reverse the nerve damage _Cruciatus_ left behind. Calming potions, too, because Pomfrey had said she thought his slumber rather restless. She'd mentioned something about Severus being right after all, about the age of the potions in her stock... 

"Fawkes wanted to see how you were," Dumbledore was going on in his kindly voice. "I think he actually wanted to heal that broken arm himself, and feels cheated." 

In answer, the brilliantly plumed bird nipped the headmaster on the ear. 

Harry lifted his arm and pushed his pyjama sleeve up a little so that both the headmaster and his familiar could see that he was whole and well again. Or, whole at least. He didn't feel very well, truth to tell. His arm shook as he held it out, and when he looked around, everything was slightly blurred around the edges. Madam Pomfrey had told him that it was normal, all of it, after such prolonged exposure to _Cruciatus_ , and that the effects should fade within a few days. 

That was hard to believe. 

Not so for the headmaster, it seemed. "So, is Harry well enough to be discharged?" 

Pomfrey hesitated. "Well..." 

"Oh, come now. You can always pop by to see him, you realise. It's not as though he's going to Timbuktu," said Dumbledore in a cajoling voice. "And he's more than old enough to follow directions about what he should and shouldn't do. Aren't you, Harry?" 

Harry flushed, certain that the headmaster must know he hadn't stayed in Surrey as he'd been told. "Yes, sir," he answered, his voice subdued. 

"There you are then." 

"Very well, Albus," said Pomfrey in a long-suffering tone. She proceeded to lecture Harry on the schedule he should follow for continuing his blood replenishers and other potions, then cautioned him to let pain be his guide when it came to regaining the use of his arm. 

He shrugged on the fuzzy terry-cloth robe that appeared from nowhere, and tied the belt around his waist before stepping into the slippers waiting for him. 

And then a horrible thought occurred to him. Pyjamas, robe, slippers... these were all hospital-wing issue. He recognised them from long experience. Where were his own clothes? Not that he wanted to see them again, those clothes that could only ever be reminders... but with the invocation coming up on Wednesday, he couldn't afford to ignore the matter. The clothes had to be destroyed. Even his shirt, which he'd ended up transfiguring into a blanket. And he needed his things back, the ones that he'd left in the hotel. Or would leaving them there count as giving them away? 

Even if it did, he couldn't leave his _Firebolt_ hidden under the hotel bed. Even invisible, sooner or later it would get found. Besides, Harry didn't want to never have it nearby again. It was magical, so he was allowed to give it to Severus. 

He gulped, resisting a childish urge to cross his fingers as he hoped he'd be allowed to fly it once in a while. But for that, he'd have to get it back. 

"Um, sir, I need somebody to go to London for me--" 

The headmaster looked at him over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Ah. London." 

Harry flushed, but soldiered on. "There are some things I left behind." He bit his lip, aware that with Pomfrey listening he couldn't speak too clearly. "And I need them. They're important." 

Dumbledore waved a hand. "We'll arrange something, Harry. Now come along. It's not a long walk." The headmaster took him by his good arm to help steady him as he stepped forward. 

Harry waited until the hospital wing doors had closed behind them before saying, "Not a long walk?" 

"I've never found it so." 

Harry happened to think that distance between the infirmary and the dungeons was pretty far. After a moment, though, he thought he understood. "Oh, that was for _her,_ I guess. She can't know I'm going to live with--" 

"Portraits, Harry," interrupted Dumbledore in a tone that somehow managed to be benign and warning, all at once. 

Harry nodded. It felt like he was a bit slow this morning, and not just in body. Something didn't make sense, but he was having a hard time putting his finger on it. After they'd walked the length of two more corridors, he thought he had it. "Wait. You said she could pop by to check on me! That's not such a good idea, is it?" 

"It won't be a problem," soothed Albus as they rounded another corner and climbed up a few steps. 

_Up._

Harry stopped walking. "This isn't the way to... um, where I thought we were going." 

"No, I imagine not." Albus turned to look at him, his hand now patting Harry on the arm. "Just a moment more, and we'll be able to discuss the matter freely. I trust you understand?" 

Nodding, Harry resumed walking. 

After just a few yards down a short corridor, they stopped in front of a painting of the Quidditch pitch. 

Albus incanted something long and complex; Harry only caught every third word. 

"I've told the guardian to allow you a password," Albus softly concluded. "Whatever you say next will become it, so choose your words with care." 

They'd studied this in seventh-year Defence, the choosing of adequate passwords. Considering the painting, Harry was tempted to say _Catch the Snitch_ or something else Quidditch-related, but he knew that wouldn't be wise. 

"Obi-wan Kenobi," he announced after a moment. It struck him as a phrase few wizards would likely have heard of, but the moment the words were out his mouth he felt a horrid pang of remembrance. His few hours with Richard seemed like something out of a dream, now. The Harry he'd been a few days ago had nothing to do with the person he was now. 

"Odd password," murmured Albus. "Which is generally to the good. Well, say it again then, Harry." 

When Harry did, the painting swung open to reveal a spacious sitting room decorated in Gryffindor colours. An open mahogany door showed a connecting bedroom; a door on the other side of the sitting room was closed. 

The entrance portal swung closed behind them as soon as they'd stepped in. Harry wasted no time. "Shouldn't I be in the dungeons?" 

"One more moment, if you would." Dumbledore stepped over to the Floo and tossed a pinch of powder in. "We're here, Severus." 

A flash of green fire heralded the arrival of the Potions Master. He stepped out of the Floo with barely a trace of ash on him, his features taut, and strode forward toward Harry, who couldn't help but step back in a hurry. 

Unfortunately, his balance wasn't what it should be, and he ended up stumbling. 

With a muttered oath, Severus took him by the arm and guided him into a chair, then stood over him looking rather hawk-like. 

"Perhaps we should have flooed," said the headmaster, shaking his head. "It appears to have been a longer walk than I thought. According to Severus, though, you aren't too fond of travelling by Floo." 

"Well, it's not like I can't stand it." He was a little taken aback that Severus had repeated something like that. It hardly seemed relevant. To cover his surprise, Harry cleared his throat. "Um, where am I?" 

Albus smiled. "I'll take my leave and allow you and Severus to talk." 

Suddenly ill-at-ease--and why not, with Severus' piercing black eyes steady on him--Harry gulped out, "Oh, that's all right. I mean, you probably want to know what happened to me, too, don't you?" 

"It's hardly encouraging that you're afraid to be alone with me," drawled Severus in his deep voice as he finally sat down, taking up position in a chair opposite Harry. 

Harry bristled. "I'm not _afraid._ I just know how loud you yell when you're angry." 

"And you think the presence of a third party would deter me?" Severus lifted an eyebrow. "You're too ill for that, in any case. And doubtless by the time you are well, the urge to berate you will have passed. Pity." 

"I'll leave you gentlemen to talk," said Albus again. "Until later, Harry." 

"Yeah, 'bye," muttered Harry, a little bit resentfully. He didn't want to face down Severus' wrath alone, and Dumbledore knew it. But then again, what was the headmaster supposed to do? He knew that in just a few days Harry was going to become Severus' slave. He probably thought it was a lot better for them to learn to work things out on their own. Which explained, of course, how absent Dumbledore had been from Harry's life lately. 

The old man probably wouldn't bother to visit later, Harry glumly concluded. Probably Harry wouldn't see him until the invocation. 

The invocation that would fail if Harry didn't straighten out the matter of his possessions. 

All at once, Harry felt like a large hand was squeezing his lungs together. Oh God, the invocation. He couldn't let it fail. He _needed Cambiare Podentes , _didn't he, and not just because he'd rather not die on his birthday. His own powers obviously weren't enough to keep him safe. He needed that mind bond so if he was ever in a position as helpless as that one again, he could call for Severus. He needed those twice-filled powers... 

"Um, so I went to London and ran into trouble," he said all in a rush as the Floo whooshed the headmaster away. "And it was stupid and reckless and everything you've already spent years yelling at me about. I admit it, all right? But what matters now is that I never managed to get back to the hotel for my stuff." 

For one second that seemed to hang suspended in time, Harry thought that Severus was going to say that it served him right to lose all his things. But then the penny dropped and the Potions Master gave a sharp nod. "Your belongings, yes. The rationale for your visit to Surrey. I will go and collect your things, yes. Of course." 

"Do you have some parchment? I'll write down directions--" 

"After we've talked," agreed Severus, nodding slightly. "The hotel will keep your things intact in your room until... ten?" 

"Check-out time was eleven," Harry glumly admitted, realising then and there that he'd been trying to put off talking with Severus. But he had to, sooner or later. 

The Potions Master's robes fluttered as he leaned forward, his hands clasped together. "How are you feeling?" 

"Um... shaky," admitted Harry, leaning back in his own chair. "Confused. Are these Gryffindor guest rooms or something? Though they're not exactly in the Tower, are they?" 

"Adjacent to the lower levels of the Tower." Severus paused. "These are your rooms, Harry." 

_I'm a whole lot sicker and more confused than I thought,_ Harry suddenly realised. "Um, it sounded like you said... _my_ rooms?" 

Severus gave a curt nod. "Though in a technical sense I suppose they are actually mine. Albus and I had to arrange it that way, given the limitations imposed by _Cambiare Podentes._ That is no matter, though. These rooms are for your use, and everyone will assume they are yours. Albus alone knows they are assigned to me in recompense for many years' faithful service to the school." 

Harry blinked, only understanding about half of that. "For my use? I... you mean a place to stay until we invoke? Because I have to live with you after that. I mean, _don't_ I?" 

"You do." Severus folded his arms in front of his chest as he leaned back. "However, it must not become known that you are living with me. Therefore, as far as anyone else is concerned--and by this I mean house-elves as well as students and staff--these are your rooms, and you will be seen to be living in them." 

Harry frowned. "Won't the spell take a dim view of that?" 

"No, since in fact these rooms are as much mine as my dungeon quarters." 

"So I don't have to live in the dungeons?" 

"You'll be down there a great deal. You'll need to sleep there, in particular." The expression in Severus' eyes didn't exactly soften, but it did somehow become less hard. "But you may spend time here as well, as you wish. There's certainly no need for you to remain in the dungeons when I am not even present. And too, it is vital that we maintain the pretence that you've nothing to do with me. These rooms will become your gateway to the dungeons so that no one need see you coming and going." 

Harry felt like his head was whirling. "Um... coming and going? I sort of thought you'd make me just stay down there all the time." 

Severus, Harry noticed, went still at that. "You were expecting to be incarcerated in the dungeons?" 

"Yeah, so nobody would know I was at Hogwarts, right? I figured I'd have to hide." 

The Potions Master frowned. "What did you think I planned to have you do all day long?" 

"Well, at first I thought you'd make me brew--" 

"I prefer potions that are usable." 

Harry ignored that. "And then when you said I didn't have the makings of an apprentice, I figured you'd just make me read and study and such. And keep things clean, I guess." 

"You are not going to be my _elf,_ though now that I have met what passes for your family, I suppose I can excuse the assumption," Severus said gruffly. "Your only value to them was the housework you could do, I suppose?" 

"I..." Harry had been about to agree, but thinking back to the horrible scene at Privet Drive, he realised he didn't have much left to hide. Well, not when it came to his family. "They worked me like an elf, but I don't think it made them like me any the better." 

Severus said nothing, though to Harry's eyes his expression looked shadowed. 

Harry shook his head a little, trying to clear it. He couldn't seem to quite grasp what Severus was saying. He didn't have to stay down in the dungeons all the time? 

"But, uh, what about making sure no one can guess I'm your slave? I... I was sure you wouldn't even want it known I'm anywhere near you..." 

Severus raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. "You've lived here for years and it's yet to cause any speculations that we might be involved. Besides, given who you are, it's not practical that you should simply disappear for any length of time. The press would leave no stone unturned until they found you, and who knows what they might discover en route? Far better that you are known to have simply stayed on at Hogwarts. After a brief holiday, of course." 

Harry still felt a little too scatterbrained to take that on face value. "Um... well let me make sure I understand. I don't have to hide, so there's no need for me to stay in the dungeons all the time? And I can make free use of these nice rooms near the Tower? And everybody can think they're mine? But that's not really true? But it might as well be?" 

Severus' black eyes regarded him steadily. "Essentially. Yes." 

Harry bit his lip, hard, trying to stop the choking feeling that was trying to crawl up his throat. He sucked in one breath after another until it no longer felt like his eyes were about to water. Only then did he feel like it was safe to speak. "Why didn't you _tell_ me about all this?" 

Severus began tapping his fingers on the arms of his chair. "At first it was because I was trying to avoid saying anything you could construe as a promise. And besides, the arrangements were far from finalised at that point. In fact there's still the matter of the governors' approval, though that is all but guaranteed." 

Harry stared, sure he'd missed something in all that. "The school governors don't have to give permission for me to live here. Dumbledore let Trelawney stay on that time, on his own authority." 

The Potions Master paused for a long moment, then spoke without inflection. "The governors hardly need approve room assignments within the castle. An additional staff position, however? That is indeed within their purview." 

Now Harry knew he just wasn't up to this conversation. He probably needed more sleep, since things were making less sense the longer they talked. "Staff position?" 

Severus met his eyes then, his own intense. "Yes. You're to work for Hogwarts as a teaching assistant. And no, not in Potions. Defence against the Dark Arts." 

Harry looked around the room again, the plan coming clear in his mind. "Oh.... that's why I have to have rooms. Can't have everyone wondering where I live. I... I don't know what to say. I mean, that all sounds _great!_ Defence is my favourite subject!" 

"We thought the post would be both beneficial and enjoyable for you, yes," said Severus, nodding. "I'll tell Albus you accept, then? You understand, it is in fact contingent on the approval of the board. Albus can appoint whom he wishes, but to create the post in the first place requires their consent." 

"Well yes, I _accept,_ " said Harry, hardly able to believe it. "I... oh my God, I thought I was going to die of boredom after the invocation." 

"Hardly," drawled Severus. "You're also to serve as Quidditch-tactics instructor. Albus thinks the sports programme could stand improvement, you see. It's time we offered more than rudimentary flying lessons, he said. It'll put you on the pitch a good portion of each week. Can you handle that as well as the Defence assistant job?" 

"Sure." Harry grinned at the thought. So much for his fears that Severus might never let him out of the dungeons! 

"You'll have to coach the teams from all the houses, without distinction," warned the Potions Master in a dry voice. "Slytherin included." 

Harry waved his hand carelessly though the air, then set it down abruptly. _Ouch._ He had to be more careful than that with his recently-healed bone. "Yeah, I can treat everybody fairly. Which is more than you... never mind." 

"I regret to say that your salary will be paid directly into my vault," said Severus. "Otherwise the spell might construe your job as independent employment. Believe me, we do not wish to do anything that will cause the spell to punish you." 

Harry frowned, his euphoria dying a little. Not because of the money, though. He'd already given up on ever having funds of his own. "But the job itself... are we sure that's safe?" 

"I did quite a bit of research before settling on this course," said Severus, crossing one leg neatly over the other. " _Cambiare Podentes_ is very old. Surely the conception of slavery as it existed then is what should inform our decisions about what might be permissible today. In ancient cultures, slaves were often entrusted with responsible positions. Some even had what we would now term professional careers requiring advanced training. The caveat was that their earnings were owned by their masters, of course. As will be the case with us. In effect, you'll be earning money for me, even if Hogwarts is the beneficiary of your services." 

Harry chewed his lip, still worried. The job sounded wonderful, but not if it left him without the protection of _Cambiare Podentes._ He'd rather live in the dungeons forever than risk being helpless again. "Um, but I was sure the précis said that a job was a bad idea." 

Severus shrugged. "I was angry when I wrote it; you know that. Harry, the salient point is that you are dependent upon me for your living, and you shall be. The essence of slavery _is_ in fact work, you realise. Would you be anxious if I told you your duties were to consist of endlessly chopping flobberworms?" 

Harry made a face, even as he answered, "No, but that's something you really need done, isn't it?" 

"And for you to spend your time improving your mastery of Defence, is that _not_ something I need done?" 

"Well... it just seems a lot less... connected to the spell itself, that's all." 

"It seems unlike slavery, I think you mean?" 

Harry nodded, relieved that Severus understood what he meant. "Right. Yes." 

"But _your_ slavery will be what I decide. And if it meets my approval for you to spend your time thus..." 

The relief he'd felt the moment before magnified itself tenfold, because then Harry was the one who understood. It _would_ be all right, he could tell. Severus had thought it all out, and his wishes were what mattered, after all. "Thank you," he said in a low voice, that choking feeling coming back. "I... I thought life was going to be so completely h- horrible, and now to find out all _this?_ A-- a place of my own, a job of my own--" 

Severus frowned. "As the spell reads intentions you must strive to keep the correct perspective, Harry. Your _home_ is with me; these are merely an extension of my quarters, one which I may not use very often, though I of course have full right of entry." 

"And the job is merely me doing what _you_ want done, and earning money for you, right. I get it," said Harry, quickly swiping at eyes to make them stop feeling so tight. Blinking helped. It was hard to breathe again, but he worked his way past it to add, "Really, I do get it. But still, thank you, Severus." 

The Potions Master reached out and took his right hand, his long fingers stroking over Harry's shorter ones. "This entire situation is fraught with difficulty, Harry. For both of us, I hope you understand. But we will find a way through it. Come Thursday, when you are in fact my bound slave, do strive to remember one thing. It's not my wish to make you miserable." 

Harry wouldn't have thought that being touched would ever feel good again, not after what Bole and Talmadge had done to him. But then again, Severus was only touching his hand. Not... other places. And it did feel good to Harry. That choking feeling tried to come back, but before it really could, something cut it off. 

Something Severus had just said. 

_It's not my wish to make you miserable._

But he _had_ made Harry miserable, hadn't he, making him think he wouldn't have anything approaching a normal life. Lying, or close enough to make no difference, leaving out information that Harry desperately needed. Just like the way he'd gone on so long not even bothering to mention that he found Harry attractive! 

Deciding _for_ Harry what he should and shouldn't know! 

Harry was tired of it, and when he thought of what it had led to, he was angry as well. 

"Why didn't you _tell_ me I could work at something after all?" he suddenly shouted, yanking his hand away so violently his chair actually tipped back. "You let me think the rest of my life was going to be perfectly awful! You made me think I'd have to hide in the dungeons fifty hours a day, with nothing to do but wash your socks or something! Well, when we weren't in _bed,_ that is!" 

He wasn't crying, not really. He was just so furious that his eyes were watering. And he sure didn't appreciate it when Severus quietly extended a handkerchief towards him. Black, of course. Harry wanted to grab it and throw it back in his face. Or maybe into the fire. 

"I'd never have gone to London if I'd known things here would be all right," he shouted, ignoring the offering. "I wouldn't have had to k- k- k-.... Bellatrix Lestrange, or been _Crucioed_ until I prayed to die! And I sure wouldn't have spent an entire day sitting around with _my bone sticking out where I could see it!_ " 

Severus, he saw, had gone white about the mouth. When the man spoke it was in a voice grating with anger. "It was not my doing that you left the safety of your family home and went toLondon!" 

"Ha, safety of my family! Very funny! I didn't want to go at all, remember? _You_ insisted!" Reaching out, Harry snatched the handkerchief after all, and blew his nose into it. Loudly. "And why do you think some time in London sounded so good! I was looking at living like a mole, with a man who wouldn't so much as agree to take me out for dinner!" 

A low hiss, that was Severus' voice now. "What are you talking about?" 

It was getting hard to breathe again, but Harry ignored the feeling. "I asked you! I even offered to pay! And you said I could eat Norwegian food in the dungeons if I wanted it so much!" 

Severus' lips twisted as he spoke in derisive tones. "You are seriously trying to persuade me that had we gone to Norway that night, you would have behaved yourself in Surrey?" 

"I don't know!" shouted Harry, crossing his arms in front of his chest. It really hurt his recently broken arm, but he ignored that, too. "I just know you made it sound like I'd never even see the _sun_ again after we invoked! And I couldn't bear it! I needed one last little bit of freedom, so what did you expect me to do when my uncle said they'd scrubbed my room raw to get the stink of me out of their house? There was nothing left of mine in Surrey and no reason to go there, not one! So I took off! It's not like I was planning to get attacked, you know! It's not like I wanted--" 

Harry abruptly shut his mouth before things he needed to keep to himself came spilling out. 

"You foolish child," said Severus, his voice no longer angry then, but just sad. Profoundly sad. 

"Not a child," muttered Harry, even though he then proceeded to hide his face in his hands, exactly as though he were one. It was either that or break down completely. 

"No, certainly not." A long moment of silence ensued, during which Harry struggled to get his breathing back to normal. What on earth was _wrong_ with him? He'd lived through worse than this without bursting into tears! 

"Listen to me, Harry," Severus finally said. "Look at me." 

And then, when Harry didn't react, Severus said another word. 

"Please." 

Harry looked up, swiping at his eyes first with the handkerchief to make sure they were dry. "What?" 

His tone had been ungracious, to say the least, but Severus didn't remark on that. 

"It was _not_ my wish to make you miserable when I kept back information concerning your immediate future." Severus sighed deeply, the light catching on the little buttons on his waistcoat. "I was merely trying to do what was best." 

"Well you sure fucked that one up," Harry spat, still so angry that he didn't know what else to do but vent it. "Royally!" 

"And your own decisions over the past few days have been perfection itself?" challenged Severus with a stare. 

"No, damn you," admitted Harry. "Even three days in Surrey would have been better than-- Look, I'm just saying, you should have told me there was some hope, all right?" 

"I thought of telling you," Severus admitted. "Particularly once I realised that it wasn't necessary to avoid all promises. Albus urged me to tell you--" 

"Ha, _Albus,_ " said Harry, almost sneering. "He could have told me if you wouldn't. You think?" 

" _He_ thinks, as he put it, that the last thing we need between us is a meddlesome old man." 

"I called him that." Harry's head hurt by then. He lifted his good hand to his temple and rubbed it. "Yeah, all right. We have to get on without him making us." 

"We do. And you are not like me, Harry. I was trying to keep that in mind when it came to the matter of your proposed employment." 

Harry stopped rubbing his temple and just stared. "Oh, come on. You can't have thought I'd refuse Defence and Quidditch, for God's sake. My two favourite things?" 

"I was sure you would be quite content with the arrangements. However, you had expressed profound discomfort, more than once, at the prospect of lying to your friends. I thought, why put you into a position where you would have to? You could tell them that you didn't know what you would be doing. Which was true enough, as I'd been careful not to give you any specifics as to... ah, duties." 

Through his vision was blurred and his eyes hurt besides, Harry didn't quite trust the expression on Severus' face. It was too bland, somehow. "That's not all, is it?" 

Another heavy sigh, Severus' buttons catching the light again. It made Harry's headache worse. "I suspected that you couldn't lie to them, not about this. You would have been too... enthusiastic over the prospect of a job you could enjoy, particularly coming as it did just after your disappointment with regards to the Aurors' programme." 

"But what does it matter if they know?" Harry sat up more, and glanced around the room. "All this is because I _don't_ have to hide the fact that I'm at Hogwarts, isn't it?" 

"I'd prefer your presence not be publicly known until after the invocation, and if we can manage it, your birthday as well. Until then, only Albus, myself, and now Poppy will realise you've returned. And the house-elves, of course, but they are not at liberty to speak of what they see in the castle or on the grounds, except to Albus. He's recently strengthened the spells to ensure it. When you're fully protected against attack, Harry, then and only then will Albus petition the governors to add your position to the faculty." 

Harry followed all that, but still... "Ron and Hermione wouldn't tell a soul I was here, not if I said to keep it quiet." 

"Albus thought so, as well." Severus frowned. "But I was not disposed to take such a risk. Just as I was not willing, so close to the invocation, to return to Norway for dinner together. I had no idea you would take my rejection of that suggestion as symbolic of so much else." 

Harry's anger had faded by then; all he felt was exhausted. Severus had at least had some reasons to keep the job and the nice rooms a secret. Lousy reasons, true. But that was just Severus. He didn't have any friends, so how could he know that Harry's were trustworthy? Besides, he probably didn't trust Gryffindors on principle. 

"When you wouldn't take me out to dinner," Harry said, gulping slightly, "all I could think was... well, you know all those nights we spent together, practicing for the ritual bath and all that?When you said _no_ to dinner, it seemed pretty clear to me that s- s- sex was all you wanted. I mean, I thought I'd be trapped down there. And as far as you were concerned... that was all I was good for." 

Severus started slightly. "No. That wasn't why I thought it better to stay in the castle that night. But as for my wanting nothing but sex from you, Harry... we don't actually know each other in any other realm, do we? The invocation is so wrapped in sex that I've been focussed on little else." 

"Yeah, I know." Now that Severus had explained, Harry could see his point of view. He tried hard not to think about the sexual requirements of the invocation. He'd get through it. Somehow. He had to, it was as simple as that. 

"I suppose we ought to extend our rapport into other realms," Severus slowly admitted, sounding like he was puzzling it out as he went. "This invocation won't merely bind you to me. It will bind us together, Harry." 

"Ha, some binding _,_ " muttered Harry. "I have to do everything you say and you don't even have to give a flip if I starve to death." 

Severus slipped off his chair to kneel in front of Harry's, then actually took his face between two palms to hold his head still. Their gazes locked, Severus' expression utterly serious. 

"You are quite correct that the magic will bind you alone. _But I will bind myself, Harry_. To you. To look after your well-being, physical and otherwise, every day for the rest of my life. Else your slavery would be abhorrent to me. Do you begin to understand?" 

Harry couldn't help himself, then. He'd tried so hard to be brave, to stay in control of himself. He hadn't cried once, not when the attack had reached its worst, not when he'd spent that long day waking up from nightmares every few minutes, not when his arm had throbbed so badly he'd wished he could just cut it off to end the pain. 

Hearing this, though, was ever so much more painful. It was like a dam inside him broke wide open and there was no holding back the flood. Because this was what he needed, wasn't it? _Exactly_ what he needed. Someone to protect him, to make sure he could never be hurt again. Someone committed. 

_Someone who could make the other Death Eaters quail._

Severus had told him all this before, had promised that night in the bath to meet all Harry's needs, but Harry hadn't understood. Or maybe he had, but he hadn't really believed that Severus meant every word. How could Harry have trusted Severus to take care of him, when Harry had thought that slavery was going to mean imprisonment in the dark, dank dungeons? When he'd thought that his most basic of needs wouldn't be met at all? 

But Severus _had_ meant what he'd said, Harry now sensed. 

Harry's eyes spilled over, his chest so tight he could hardly breathe at all. "I... I should have trusted you!" he choked out, wishing he knew where the handkerchief had gone. "I... I should never have stayed on in Lon- Lon- London! Oh _God,_ if I'd just known all this sooner--" 

Severus half-stood and gathered Harry into his arms, then sat down in the chair, Harry cradled across his lap. "Shh," he urged, one hand going to the back of Harry's head, his fingers carding through tangled hair. "Shh. Calm yourself, Harry. Everything is all right." 

"I don't know what's wrong with me. Y- y- you must think I'm completely mental..." 

He would never have guessed that Severus Snape could speak in such a soft, gentle voice. "I think you've been tortured beyond endurance. I think you're ill and in need of a good deal more sleep and rest. So then... would you like to see your bedroom?" 

"My b- bedroom," Harry stammered, hardly able to believe the phrase, even now. He had a place of his own? A place where he could look out the windows at the green hills? He could even see the Quidditch pitch through the panes of glass, he realised as Severus stood and carried him through the open doorway and into a room dominated by a large four-poster hung with dark blue curtains. 

"Yes," said Severus before he murmured a spell to cause the covers to peel back from the sheets. He set Harry on his feet so he could help him out of his robe, then settled him into bed and tucked him in. "Remember though, whatever you say to others later, you must remember that these rooms are an adjunct of my own quarters. I've assigned you an area for your use. Keep that in mind when you say _my bedroom._ " 

"I will." The sheets felt wonderful. Warm and smooth and _comforting_. Or maybe that was just the feeling Severus himself was putting out. All Harry knew was that he felt safe. He wouldn't have thought he would, not in a bedroom with Severus, who had every reason to expect Harry to have sex with him soon. And like it, even. 

But Severus wouldn't push for that, Harry knew, not while Harry was ill and weak. 

And so Harry did feel safe, even when the Potions Master leaned over and dropped a soft kiss across his lips. Kissing was good, Harry thought, as he turned his face up and met Severus' lips. Bole and Talmadge hadn't forced kisses on him; they'd been intent on one thing only. So Harry could kiss Severus and not be reminded. 

"I want you to tell me about Bellatrix Lestrange," Severus said when he drew back. "About how she captured you and how you killed her. It could be important, all of it." 

Harry knew that. He also dreaded talking about it. "I'm really tired," he hedged, pulling the covers up further. 

"When I return, then," said Severus in a soothing voice. "Harry, it's difficult knowing you've killed. Even someone as thoroughly deserving of it as Bella. But refusing to speak of it will only make your nightmares worse. I do know." 

Harry was sure he did. 

"All right, I'll tell you about Bella," he said, mentally adding, _but not about anyone else. It was all between Bella and me, and if I seem a little jumpy from now on, it's an aftereffect of Cruciatus. _"But I really am tired now." 

"Of course." Severus kissed him again, mouth on mouth, and Harry realised again how much he could still like that. At least right now, when it didn't seem so very sexual. "Tell me where your hotel is and I'll go collect all your things." 

"Eccleston Road." Harry yawned. "Hotel Royale, just down from Victoria Station. Don't know the address but you really can't miss it. Um... room twenty-two, my broom's under the bed. Invisible, but I need it to coach Quidditch. And get everything, so the invocation doesn't get messed up. And--" 

"I do understand the mechanics of summoning spells," interrupted Severus. 

"I put up some wards--" Harry abruptly stopped. "I guess you can deal with them all right. But, um, speaking of possessions, I was worried where my clothes from last night went. There was a blanket transfigured from a shirt--" 

"The elves have washed all those items and placed them with your other clothes." 

"My... what?" 

Severus waved his wand, causing a wardrobe on the opposite wall to fly open. Harry could barely see; his head was at the wrong angle and his vision was blurred, but he got the idea. _This_ is where Severus had put all the clothes he'd bought that day in Norway. No wonder Harry had never been able to figure out where they were. 

Severus must have been going back and forth to fetch clothes to set out for Harry after showers and the like, Harry realised. 

"I guess you don't mind the Floo," he murmured in a drowsy voice as he felt Snape lean close to pluck Harry's glasses off. They clattered on the night table, along with something else. "I... I'll get used to going back and forth, too. And I'll think of this as your home, I promise. My rooms in your home..." 

Severus said something then, but Harry couldn't hear it. He was already too far down the road towards sleep. 


	43. Chapter 43

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Sunday, June 14, 1998 ---- 10:27 a.m.**

When Harry woke up, he was drenched in sweat and tangled in the bedclothes. _Nightmares again,_ he thought, sitting up. He couldn't actually remember any, which was a mercy. He knew well enough by then what was in his dreams. 

As he shoved the wrinkled blankets away, he looked around for Severus, but he was nowhere to be seen. Harry couldn't help it; he began to shiver. After what had happened on the bridge, and afterwards... after that long horrible day waiting at the Dursley house, half-afraid every instant that those two Death Eaters would track him down and try to break through the blood wards... after all that, Harry just didn't want to be alone. No matter that he was at Hogwarts now, and presumably safe. Too many troubling incidents had proven to him that the castle's wards weren't foolproof, not when it came to Harry Potter. 

Thankfully, his wand was lying on a night table next to the bed. He could vaguely recall Severus summoning it inside the Dursley house, but didn't remember it being returned. Stretching out an arm, Harry snatched up his glasses first and shoved them on his nose, then reached for his wand. He felt better with it in his hand. 

A little, at least. 

Maybe his shivering had more to do with cold than fear, he realised as he dragged himself up out of bed. Groaning a little--he was stiff and sore all over--Harry lurched across the room to where his robe was draped over a chair. Pulling it on didn't seem to make him feel warmer, though, so he cast a warming charm across the terry-cloth fabric.  
  
The moment the magic took effect, he realised he was a little bit surprised it had been so easy. Of course warming charms were easy, but he couldn't help but remember that horrid, awful feeling of his powers being pinned down by Bellatrix's anti-Apparition spells.  
  
Not to mention the feeling of being pinned down by Talmadge and B--  
  
Harry shook his head, hard. He wasn't going to think about that.  
  
His slippers were on the floor by the chair, too. Harry couldn't remember Severus taking them off him... maybe they'd fallen off. Really, Harry thought, he couldn't seem to remember much at all. At least, not clearly. Everything had the hazy character of a dream.  
  
The walk from the infirmary... Severus, saying these rooms were Harry's but not Harry's... then, Severus on his knees, his black eyes steady and sincere, his hands warm on Harry's face... 

_I will bind myself to you...._

Harry's knees buckled. Good thing the chair was so handy, he thought as he quickly sat down. Only now did he remember bursting into tears. He would have thought someone like Severus Snape would have little patience for that. Ha. He would have thought that Severus would have no patience at all for a grown man's tears. And least of all Harry's. 

He could almost hear a sneering voice from the past mocking him for being so weak as to cry. _Feeling sorry for yourself, Potter?_

But Severus hadn't said that, or anything like it. He could have cut Harry to ribbons, _and he hadn't._

He'd made Harry feel safe. 

Strange that such a feeling could go hand in hand with the prospect of enslavement, but Harry could see now that it actually did. As long as you were invoking the spell with someone who... well, he wouldn't say _cared._ He couldn't imagine Severus did. But if you were invoking with someone you could trust to be reasonable... or even compassionate, about the need to enslave another human being... 

Then yes, he could see how the bond could end up being something mutual. Of course, that wouldn't make it equal. It was going to be voluntary on Severus' part. No magic would reach out to punish _him_ if he turned out to be a harsh master. 

But that was where it came back to trust. 

And Harry did trust Severus. It would be hard not to, he realised as he sat there. The other man had arranged as much of an adult, independent life for Harry as he could, considering the spell. This suite of rooms, a real job --one Harry might well have chosen for himself, actually--... Severus hadn't had to do any of it. 

But he didn't want Harry to be miserable. 

Now, Harry could believe that. _Truly_ believe it. 

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, but the noise of someone knocking roused him from his contemplations. Pushing to his feet, he made his out to the sitting room. 

Harry wasn't sure who might be out there asking for entry. Severus _had_ said that time that he would respect a closed door, but Harry suspected that _Podentes_ would require Severus to act like the owner of these rooms. That sort of ruled out knocking, at least on the front door. So perhaps it was Dumbledore come back as he had promised? 

It turned out to be Madam Pomfrey. 

Harry flushed, wondering just how much she knew about what had happened to him. She certainly hadn't acted like she knew he'd been-- but then again, he hadn't been awake for long before Dumbledore had stopped by. Maybe she hadn't had a chance to get into the matter, and now she'd want to talk to him about... 

"You're looking a bit peaked," she said as she bustled in, a canvas medical bag floating behind her. "Did you take your half past ten blood replenisher, Mr Potter?" 

"Uh, I fell asleep." 

The medi-witch gave him a look that said she wasn't surprised. "It's likely too soon for you to have been released. You're more than welcome to come back." 

Harry shook his head. 

"I thought not. Well then, I suppose a timing spell is in order. Where are the doses I gave you yesterday?" After Harry fished them out from his robe pockets, Pomfrey tapped the vials with her wand. "There. Each will make a chiming noise when it wants to be taken. It gets louder if you ignore it." 

"I won't ignore it." 

Pomfrey nodded, and indicated a vial she hadn't tapped. "Drink that one now. And do have a seat, Harry. Or do you feel you need to lie down?" 

Harry swallowed the dose of blood replenisher and sank down into a chair. "I think I'll want another nap later, but for now I feel all right." He looked carefully around the sitting room, some part of him wondering where that other door led. "Um, vision seems a little less blurry." 

"And how is your appetite?" 

Harry knew her well enough not to fall for that one. "I think you saw how much breakfast I ate. I wasn't hungry, not after all those potions." 

"That's not a typical effect." Pomfrey sat down in the chair Severus had occupied earlier that morning. 

Harry shrugged. What did she expect him to say? 

"Well, do try to eat a good lunch," she briskly directed. 

"Sure." Harry cleared his throat, wondering again how much she knew. Or how much she might have told Dumbledore. Though if she'd suspected the worst, would she really have blabbed it? "Um, did I have any internal injuries? The way... uh, Bellatrix kept cursing me, I figured I must." His voice broke a little. "I mean, it really hurt, what... um, she kept doing to me." 

"I'm sure," said Pomfrey, her voice more sympathetic, then. "I imagine Professor Snape's healing draught must have cleared up any internal damage before I arrived. By the time I got to you, there wasn't much left to treat except that broken arm and the after-effects of _Cruciatus._ " The medi-witch gave him a slight smile. "I am very sorry, Harry, that I wasn't on hand to help you straight away." 

"Oh, well you couldn't have known." Harry drew in a breath, relieved that his secret would stay that way. "Anyway, the term was over. No reason for you hang about." 

The medi-witch glanced about the room. "I know it hasn't been officially approved yet, but you must be very excited at the prospect of working here. A pity the attack had to cut your holiday short." 

So they'd told her... well, Harry figured it would be difficult to explain his presence if they hadn't. He tried to act like he'd known about the plan for a while. "Yeah, but seeing as it was cut short I was thinking of... uh, writing up some thoughts on Quidditch tactics. Get the teams off to a good start. I'd try to get a head start on my teaching assistant job, too, except I don't really know what the new Defence professor will expect from me. Um, do you know who it might be?" 

"Goodness, no." Pomfrey stood up, her wide skirts swishing. "Well, you know where I am if you feel you are having any sort of relapse." 

"You aren't leaving on holiday again?" 

She huffed slightly. "Not while I have a patient in the castle. Perhaps after you're fully well again. Mind you eat properly, and don't neglect your potions." 

Harry patted the pocket where he'd stowed them, and got up to see her out. As he closed the door behind her, it occurred to him that it didn't have any sort of lock. Of course, wizarding doors rarely did; wards and passwords were far more secure than any mechanical device could hope to be. Harry fetched his wand again and did his best to ward the door, but that time, his magic felt frankly shaky. 

Wards demanded a good deal more power than warming charms, of course. And everyone knew that injury and illness tended to sap powers while they lasted. But still, Harry shivered. That confidence he'd had when he'd walked away from Uncle Vernon's car seemed insane to him, now. Now, he realised that what happened in London was like that time in the graveyard, when only luck had saved him. If not for their wands connecting like that, Harry would have been dead that night. 

And he'd probably be dead now too, if not for Bellatrix making the mistake of loosening the sticking spell one too many times. He hadn't been her magical equal. His helplessness in the face of her anti-Apparition spell made that clear enough. He hadn't even been able to protect his wand! 

Shaking, Harry shoved one of the wing-backed chairs up against the suite's front door. He would have pushed the other one over there too, if he'd felt stronger. As it was, he was panting. If Madam Pomfrey could see him, she'd throw a fit and insist he return to the hospital wing. 

Harry collapsed into the chair he'd just moved and rested for a few minutes, his mind more or less a blank, but all the while, something was niggling at his consciousness. It took him a while to figure out what it was. 

The other door in his sitting room. 

Almost opposite his bedroom door, it had remained closed all this while. 

What if someone was behind that door? What if-- 

Harry gulped, knowing full well that his speculations were wildly irrational. It was just another room. A study, perhaps. Or a bathroom, or a place to store things. There wasn't anybody in there. Nobody even knew he was here, except Severus, Dumbledore, and Pomfrey, and none of them would want to hurt him. 

It was just a door. 

A simple, wooden door. 

All the same, Harry got his wand out as he approached it to find out exactly what lay behind it. 

The brass knob was slick when he put his hand on it, but when a bead of sweat dripped into his eyes, stinging them and fogging his glasses, he knew the problem was actually him. Which didn't mean there was nobody in there, however. 

It came to him as he began to turn the knob that it really would be better to have something more than a wand in hand, his magic being so very shaky at the moment. Not that Muggle weapons would be much use against... 

A bathroom. 

Harry leaned against a tiled wall and started hyperventilating. God, he really was a mess, wasn't he? All that stress, so much that he almost hadn't been able to open the door, and it turned out to be nothing more threatening than a bathroom. He should have figured the suite of rooms would have one. Junior staff probably didn't have to pop down the corridor to use the student facilities, for pity's sake! 

With effort, he managed to get his breathing back to normal and his mind off his stupidity. The bathroom helped a lot with that. It was pretty nice. Of course he had nothing as fancy as Severus' wizardspace tub, but he had nothing to complain about, either. His own suite of rooms, even his own bathroom... it was a lot more than he had expected. 

Backing out, Harry made his way back to the bedroom. It had another door too, he noticed now. 

That choking feeling, familiar too him now, rose up again. That fear. 

Determined not to let it get to him this time, Harry went straight to the door, thrust it open, and stepped through. 

He didn't end up in a closet, though. Or another bathroom. 

He found himself walking into Severus' bedroom in the dungeons. 

  
  
  
  


**Sunday, June 14, 1998 ---- 10:40 a.m.**

Harry sat down on Severus' bed, his heart beating fast from the shock of travelling so far with just a single footstep. His suite of rooms was several storeys above ground, judging from the view out the windows. And now he was underground, just like that. 

Harry glanced back at the open doorway again. It didn't look new, but he didn't remember it from before. And he'd been in Severus' bedroom enough to be sure. That doorway had been put in during the time Harry had been in Surrey. It looked just like a normal connecting door, too. He could see straight into the other bedroom, just as if it really were next door, instead of all the way across the castle and several floors up. 

So how had he come through like that? He could almost hear Hermione explaining to him for about the fifteenth time that it wasn't possible to Apparate inside Hogwarts. Besides, it hadn't felt like Apparition, or a Portkey even. 

It had just felt like stepping from one room into another. 

Much better than having to use a Floo, Harry reflected. 

And that was when it hit him. 

_According to Severus, you aren't too fond of travelling by Floo,_ the headmaster had said. Harry smiled wryly. Well now he didn't have to Floo to get down to the dungeons, did he? It was touching, in a way. Kind of like getting a towelling robe sized just for him. 

Definitely, Severus wasn't out to make him miserable. Quite the opposite, it seemed. 

_Maybe you should tell him what those men did,_ a little voice inside him whispered. _He didn't make fun of your crying. That's got to mean you can trust him with this, too. He wouldn't use it against you, wouldn't blame you, wouldn't ridicule you..._

Harry scowled, his mood going black all at once. How could he tell Severus about the... No, no, he couldn't. He couldn't tell anyone, he knew that without thinking twice. He needed to pretend, even inside himself if he could, that it hadn't ever happened. If he so much as tried to talk, his heart would freeze inside him, he just knew it. The words would get stuck in his throat. 

And besides, even if he could get the words up to his lips, Severus would be the last person he'd want to tell. 

The invocation might not require intercourse, exactly, but it was pretty damned sexual. And if Severus knew about the... knew about _it,_ Harry was pretty sure that Severus would put the whole thing off. They didn't _have_ to invoke on the seventeenth, after all. They could do it later, closer to Harry's birthday. 

And that thought was enough to make Harry start hyperventilating again. What if the Death Eaters caught up with him again, somehow? What if they attacked Hogwarts to get to him? It wasn't completely impossible for them to get into the castle. Crouch Jr. had gotten in, after all. Lucius Malfoy used to wander about freely. And Voldemort himself, in one form or another. He'd got in, too. 

And Harry had forgotten about all that, somehow. He'd gone to London full of strength and confidence, sure that after seven years of magical education, he'd do just fine on his own. But he hadn't. Despite all his precautions and planning... the glamour, the Portkey, he'd failed utterly to protect himself. 

And now, the feeling of assurance he'd had, that sense of self-reliance... he couldn't even remember it properly, it was so distant from him. Like it belonged in another place and time. Like it had nothing to do with him. 

How could it, when he'd been afraid to open a bathroom door? 

The . . . _it_ had changed things. A lot. Now, Harry wanted to invoke _Cambiare Podentes._ Actually, it was more like a bone-deep yearning. Someone to protect him, someone committed to that very thing. Once he had that, the Death Eaters could never get to him again, right? He'd have that mind-bond with Severus. He'd be able to call for help. He wouldn't ever be helpless in the face of an attack. And if he could just manage to submit to the spell--and to Severus--like he was supposed to, then he'd get those twice-filled powers, and he'd finally be able to put an end to Voldemort. 

Nobody would ever, ever tangle with him again after that. 

So how could he say to Severus that he'd been-- that he couldn't stand the thought of sex? Severus might do worse than put off the invocation, he might cancel it altogether. Slytherins weren't exactly known for wasting their time on hopeless quests. He might conclude that the war was lost already, and what would he do then? Harry had never forgotten the things Phineas Nigellus Black had said. _We Slytherins are brave, yes, but not stupid. Given the choice, we will always choose to save our own necks._

Severus might well think he had no choice but to do just that, if Harry said anything at all about how he was feeling, now. And unlike Hermione or Ron or any of Harry's other friends, Severus Snape _did_ have a way to save his own neck. He could start being truly loyal to Voldemort instead of merely pretending to be so. He could tell himself that Harry was destined to die regardless, that the world was destined to fall to the Dark Lord in any case, so he might as well join the victors. 

Not that he would _want_ to do any such thing. Harry was sure now that the other wizard wanted Dumbledore and the Order to win, if it were possible. But if Snape thought it wasn't possible at all, he'd probably refuse to invoke. He wouldn't want to tie himself to the losing side. 

By a Slytherin code of ethics, it only made sense. It might be the only way to survive. 

_Given the choice, we will always choose to save our own necks..._

So of course Harry couldn't tell Severus about what had really happened to him. He was on his own, but he was used to that. He'd been alone in the cemetery after the Third Task, and he hadn't been smart or fast enough to figure out what he ought to have done. That wasn't going to happen again. 

He understood his dream now, understood that awful nightmare that had plagued him ever since he'd first realised what _Cambiare Podentes_ was all about _._ It was a warning to make the right choice this time. He couldn't afford another horrible mistake. He had to go through with the invocation without telling Severus that the sex part of it really turned his stomach, now. He had to forget about that. 

Which didn't seem too likely, actually. But he was sure that talking about it with anyone would only keep it fresh in his mind. 

If only there were a magic cure! Something to help him forget, to _make_ him forget... but no, _Obliviate_ was out of the question. He could end up like Lockhart, with half his mind missing, and that certainly wouldn't help the invocation any. The précis hadn't said, but Harry was pretty sure you had to be aware of aware of what you were doing in order to invoke _Podentes._

He did wish there could be a potion or spell though, that could make it so the London trip had never happened. Harry didn't have a time-turner, though, so there was no going back. Nothing could change him back into the person he'd been before. The person who'd pored over those books and enjoyed the way the drawings would make his lower body tense. The person who had really liked the way Richard looked at him... 

Harry couldn't imagine feeling that way, ever again. 

But he could do what had to be done, right? No matter that the thought of it made him feel like he'd much rather just run away. There was nowhere to run to. 

He'd just have to grit his teeth and clench his fists, and get through it, all of it. 

There wasn't anything else to do. 

  
  
  
  


**Sunday, June 14, 1998 ---- 1:23 p.m.**

Severus spelled his workshop clean, as was his custom directly after brewing, then went to his dining alcove and asked the elves to prepare a salmon sandwich for his lunch. He tried to read as he ate--this new research into potion heat tolerance was really quite fascinating--but he couldn't seem to keep his thoughts on the subject. They kept straying upstairs. 

The moment he'd finished eating, Severus flooed up to see how Harry was faring. 

The first thing he noticed upon stepping out of the fireplace was that one of the large chairs in the sitting room had been moved directly in front of the suite's front door. He had little time to ponder that, though, not with the smell of smoke that was wafting from the bedroom. 

A bit alarmed, Severus used the flat of his hand to push open the half-closed door. Harry was sitting on the floor in front of the small fireplace in his bedroom. Still dressed in pyjamas, he was throwing a trainer into the fire, the motion so emphatic that a shower of sparks rose up. When Severus peered at the flames, he could see another shoe, along with some burning fabric. Severus couldn't tell what it had originally been. 

He could guess, though, since now Harry was hurling a sock into the fire. And then another, his eyes blazing with fury. Like he wished the clothes were deadly hexes and the fire someone who deserved to suffer them. 

Severus didn't quite know what to say, especially considering this seemed to be a rather private moment and he'd intruded. Neither did he wish to startle the young man. "Harry?" 

Harry jerked slightly as he sat there, his right hand lashing out to snatch up the wand that was on the floor beside him. Did he have it close to hand because he'd recently cast _Incendio_ , or for some deeper reason? After seeing the way the front door had been barricaded, Severus tended to suspect the latter. 

Green eyes met black ones, and then Harry appeared to abruptly come down from some peak of rage. He slumped, almost as though strings had been holding him up, strings that had suddenly snapped. He seemed unsteady on his feet when he pushed himself into a standing position. "Um, hi. I... uh, needed to, you know, destroy all my stuff. So I was starting, that's all." 

Severus strongly doubted that was indeed all. 

"You didn't think it would make sense to wait until I brought up your other things?" Severus tapped his waistcoat pocket, and when Harry didn't seem to understand, pulled a tiny school trunk out and proceeded to enlarge it. Harry started as if he'd entirely forgotten he had other things to destroy. 

"Ah," Severus quietly said, thinking he understood. "Those were clothes your family had given you. Hand-me-downs from your cousin?" 

Harry blinked. "Yeah, that's it." And then, all at once, something seemed to break in him. His green eyes filled with regret. "No, that's not it. Sorry. Um..." Panting slightly, though he'd not exerted himself that Severus could detect, Harry leaned against a bedpost, wrapping an arm around it. "I was wearing those when... um, Bellatrix happened across me. I... I opened the wardrobe and saw them and..." He cleared his throat. "I couldn't stand it. I... They had to _go_. I know that doesn't make any sense--" 

"It makes perfect sense," said Severus in a level voice. "Reminders can be difficult." 

Harry nodded, the motion jerky. "Yeah. I know a real wizard would probably just have banished them--" 

Severus held up a hand, his brow furrowing. "You're a real wizard." 

"I know. I meant--" Harry's hands started shaking. "I couldn't _fight_ her, Severus. I mean, she wouldn't let me. And it shouldn't have been up to her--" 

By then, Harry was pressing himself up against the bedpost, he was gripping it so tightly. The sight was odd, until Severus understood. The young man needed something to hold onto, and not just because he was physically weakened by his ordeal. 

Stepping forward, Severus gently prised Harry's hand off of the bedpost and put it on his own hip. For a moment Harry merely stood there, as if unsure what to do. But then he breathed in deeply and leaned against Severus, his hand moving around to settle at the small of Severus' back. After another moment, his other arm came around the Potions Master as well, the embrace uneven since his healing arm wasn't very strong yet. 

Harry's whole body relaxed into the hard line of Severus' like the young man felt comfortable being there. 

Severus' own body chose that moment to react rather predictably. Why wouldn't it? Harry was young and handsome and in his arms, and Severus couldn't help but remember the more intimate embraces they'd been sharing in the recent past. Even the smell of Harry was a reminder of all the times Severus had held him. 

When Severus' snug trousers seemed to tighten, the feeling was a familiar one. But not, however, terribly welcome. Not in circumstances like this. Harry needed to abstain until the invocation, in order to make the night of the seventeenth go as well as possible. And even if he didn't, there was still the matter of recovery from _Cruciatus_ , not to mention the obvious mental strain the young man was under. The chair against the door, the destruction of his clothes from the day of the attack... and too, Severus noted, the lunch tray sitting on the bed, food on it barely touched, if at all... 

Definitely not an appropriate time for Severus to shift their embrace into anything remotely sexual. 

Later, though, after they'd invoked... Severus' cock hardened further at the thought of it. He could have Harry anytime he liked. When he woke up throbbing, he'd merely need to pull Harry into his arms to have that hunger satisfied. No longer would his only options be self-pleasure or a maddening wait until he could spare enough time from Hogwarts to seek out a brothel. 

He'd have a lover of his own, someone all to himself, someone who truly enjoyed his touch. For Harry undoubtedly did. Why else was he even now seeking comfort in this embrace? Not sexual comfort, no. Severus knew that. Harry needed more from him than physical pleasure. Hadn't he said so earlier that very morning? Severus' behaviour had encouraged the young man to assume himself good for nothing but sex. And Harry was going to be so much more than that to Severus.... 

_Of course he is,_ Severus hurriedly told himself. _He has to be. Crossing powers is going to require rapport on a number of levels. That's why this binding has to be mutual in effect, so that in the end the Dark Lord can be defeated._ _That's why I have to be sure to make Harry comfortable enough with me that he can bear to live as my slave._

And what had Harry said? That he couldn't stand for Severus to treat him like a harem-boy. 

Severus hurriedly stepped back from the embrace and tried to will his cock to behave. The young man was ill! He latched onto the first thing that came to mind. "Now that your things are here, would you like to see to their disposal or distribution?" 

Harry sat down on the bed, shaking his head when he looked at his trunk. "No, I'll deal with that lot later. I feel a bit tired, really. I shouldn't. Haven't done much today. Madam Pomfrey came by for a bit. And then later the headmaster dropped by to check on me. Oh, and I found the connecting door." 

Severus sat down too, but in a chair a safe distance away. "I should have known a Gryffindor would find it before I could explain. But if you're feeling tired, Harry, perhaps eating would help a bit. Your lunch doesn't appear to have been touched." 

"Oh. Well, I'm not so hungry," murmured Harry, though he did pick up a cracker and start to nibble on it. "About the door, though. Um, I kind of went through it by accident. But in future, should I knock? And are you going to? See, I know these are your rooms actually, so with the spell and all, maybe you shouldn't knock. But I remember you said that thing about respecting a closed door, right?" 

Severus had thought all this through, but he found himself mildly pleased that Harry appeared to be considering the spell so closely. "If allowing you some privacy was permissible before, it should be now as well. Nothing's really changed, Harry, save that my quarters have grown a bit more spacious. You should be aware that sound will pass unimpeded through the doorway if it is open. Therefore, you will need to close it and your bedroom door when you have guests in the sitting room." 

"Guests?" 

The Potions Master waved a vague hand. "Other staff may wish to visit, that sort of thing." 

"Is that common?" 

"I don't get many visitors. You, however?" Severus shrugged. "You're known as a fairly sociable sort, I believe." 

"Oh." Chewing his lip, Harry set his half-eaten cracker aside. "Um, what about friends? I mean, like Ron? When he hears I'm working at Hogwarts he might want to come visit. Can I let him?" 

"It's another reason why I thought you should have your own rooms. Certainly, Mr Weasley may visit." 

Another look, this one somehow more intense, but also pleading. "What about Hermione?" 

Severus struggled not to let his antagonism show. He did know now that Harry wasn't attracted to the Granger girl. Intellectually, he was absolutely certain of it. On other levels, though, his former emotions still burned inside him. He didn't care for the memory of Harry saying he loved her, of Harry holding the girl in his arms. 

Of Harry kissing her hair and looking at her like _she_ was the one he could depend on to get him through the ordeal that was _Cambiare Podentes._ Of Harry telling her _everything_ , even things that ought to stay between him and Severus alone. 

He didn't want Harry close to anyone but _him_ , Severus realised. He didn't want him to see the girl again, ever, no matter that it was all no doubt innocent. 

"Severus?" 

The worried tone in Harry's voice cut through Severus' thoughts. As much as he didn't like Harry's friendship with Granger, what good would it do to insist it be cut off? Harry would comply. Severus was certain of that. But he'd be resentful. 

And it wasn't Severus' aim to make the young man miserable. Or to make it more difficult for them to cross powers, or invoke, even. He had to put Harry as much at ease as _Cambiare Podentes_ would allow. "I believe I did mention before that Miss Granger could come to visit you." 

Harry cleared his throat. "Um, yeah, you did. But all you said was that something could be arranged. And I... I guess I thought you'd be doing the arranging, and I figured that when it came right down to it, you wouldn't want to, not for Hermione. I mean... I know you don't like her much." 

"Your friends are your own prerogative," Severus said, lifting his shoulders in what he hoped appeared a casual gesture. "All your friends, Harry." 

"All right. I mean, thanks. Oh, I... I meant to thank you for the door as well. That's... really nice that I won't have to floo all the time. I wasn't expecting..." 

Severus permitted himself a small smile. "Consideration?" 

Harry coloured slightly and looked away. "Well, I know what you must think of someone my age who can't even use a Floo without getting doused in ash." 

"Actually, when I thought about it I realised it wouldn't do to have you looking unkempt. If you were to open the door to a visitor just after you'd come from the dungeons, it would cause questions we don't need." 

"Well, I still think you were being nice. Um, thinking of what I need, like you said. I'm s- sorry I didn't believe before that you meant to do that." 

Severus folded his hands together, wondering how to reply to that. "It's good you believe it now." 

He didn't realise that he'd been set up, or indeed, that Harry could be cagey enough _to_ set him up, until the young man looked at him again, green eyes piercing. "There's something else I need. I... look, I'd been _Crucioed_ before, but not like this. And it made me understand a little better what sort of risks you're running, Severus. I... I need you to stop spying." 

"You're a tad more manipulative than the average Gryffindor. Are you aware of that?" 

Harry sighed. "Don't change the subject." 

"Very well. It's my studied belief that what you need is good intelligence about the Dark Lord's plans. I know how to manage the risk." 

"That's what _I_ thought, too," said Harry, a gulping noise behind the words. "When I stayed on in L- London." 

That time, Severus' smile was a little grim. "You can't persuade me on this matter, Harry." 

Harry crossed his arms. "Fine." 

At that moment a slight chiming noise broke the tension between them. "Dose," muttered Harry, reaching over to where his robe had been tossed onto the unmade bed. He drew several vials out of a pocket and took a moment to figure out which one was making the noise, then downed it. Afterwards, he frowned. "At least I could feel the blood replenishers work. Now I'm down to just nerve restoratives and honestly, they don't help very much. I still feel... shaky." 

"Damage from _Cruciatus_ can't be reversed instantaneously," murmured Severus. "Nerve potion effects are cumulative." 

"Yeah, Pomfrey did say that." 

Severus flicked a glance at the lunch tray. "You should try to eat even if you aren't hungry. Adequate nutrition will help the potion be at its most effective." 

Harry looked reluctant as he sipped at a glass of pumpkin juice and ate half a sandwich. Then he shoved the tray away. "Nothing tastes good," he complained, shifting to sit back against his pillows, his legs stretched out in front of him. The way the soft fabric of his pyjamas clung to his hips and thighs was more than a little distracting for Severus. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and... 

Severus stood up and hastily drew a blanket up and draped it over Harry, covering him to the chest. 

Harry seemed to appreciate it. He snuggled down a little bit more into his bed, a sight which hardly helped Severus, considering. It was all he could do not to join Harry in the bed. He was entitled, after all. Harry was in fact his lover. His willing lover... 

"How's the doorway work?" Harry suddenly asked. 

Discussing the mechanics of magic was one way, Severus thought, to get his impulses under control. 

"The same principle as a Portkey." 

"I didn't feel any hook--" 

"You wouldn't, not with such a short distance to traverse." 

"Can anybody go through it?" 

"No, only us. You should be aware that there's a glamour on it; nobody else should even be able to see the door." 

That had Harry sitting up a bit straighter, his eyes haunted when he raised them. "Glamours can fail, Severus. I... mine did." 

_The crux of the matter,_ Severus thought. "In London, I presume you mean?" 

A single nod. 

"Perhaps it's time to talk about it?" 

The young man stiffened. "I'd rather not. I mean, I'd rather just forget." 

"I know," said Severus, moving to sit down again, this time right next to where Harry was lying. He wasn't worried now about wayward desire rearing its head. There was nothing enticing about a young man suffering torment like this. And it was torment. Harry wasn't the kind of person who could brush off the fact that he'd killed someone. "I think you need to talk about it, Harry." 

The young man sat up even more, and made a face. "Yeah, I know. It could be important for the Order." 

"For you as well." 

" _That_ part I don't believe." 

Severus didn't think it would do much good to argue the point. As long as Harry talked, that was. "I brought you something that might make it a little easier," he said, reaching into a deep robe pocket for the bright red can he'd stowed there earlier. The people in the London store had stared at him, and no wonder. He hadn't bothered to transfigure his robes into Muggle clothes. London, he'd thought, was cosmopolitan enough that his appearance shouldn't make much impact. In that, he'd been wrong. Not that it mattered much. 

Harry's face, paler than usual, went positively waxy as he looked at Severus' hand. "Oh, God." 

"It is the right kind, I think?" asked Severus, confused by Harry's reaction. "Coca-Cola? You said you hardly ever got it at home and it was your favourite drink?" 

"Put it away," Harry groaned. "Please. I... I drank way too much Coke the whole time I was in London and now the sight of it makes me a little sick. And..." He drew in a long, deep breath. "Um, I was drinking one when Bellatrix tried to turn the Tower Bridge upside-down." 

_Ah, associations._ Severus understood those. He tapped the can once with his wand to banish it. "My apologies." 

Harry was blinking fast as though trying to stay in control of himself. "No, don't apologise. That was... uh, good of you to remember. I mean, really good of you. In other circumstances I'm sure I'd be over the moon to get a Coke here." 

"Harry, hush," said Severus, shifting over to lay on the bed next to the young man. Reaching out an arm, he gathered him up against his side, Harry below the blanket and Severus atop it. "I wouldn't have brought it if I'd known you were averse at the moment. Which is perhaps another reason why you should tell me about what happened, yes? How can I do what's best for you if I don't know just what you went through?" 

"I... did you know there was going to be an attack against the Tower Bridge?" 

Severus shook his head. "Tell me about it." 

Harry shook. "I... I don't think I can." 

"One thing," Severus urged. "Just tell me one thing about what happened." He knew from experience how starting was the hardest part. If not for Albus, Severus would have held in his own terrible experiences, and been the worse for it. _Just one thing,_ Albus would encourage him. But after Severus had started, the rest of the story would invariably come spilling out. 

He hoped the principle also held true for Harry. 

"I'd gone to the Tower of London," Harry said, leaning into him as though seeking shelter. Severus held him more securely, his fingers moving to massage Harry's nape. To soothe him, if he could. "I was thinking I'd cross the Thames and see the other side. I... I'd cast a glamour... n- nobody should have been able to recognise me. But then the bridge started to buckle and I got hurt and the glamour fell and Bellatrix _s- s-_ _saw_ me..." 

At first the story came in fits and starts, Harry stuttering so much at times that Severus could scarcely follow. It might take hours to get through it, at this rate. But that was all right. Severus had hours. He had as long as Harry needed. 

The Potions Master drew the young man closer, pulling him up against the full length of his side, and simply listened. 


	44. Chapter 44

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Sunday, June 14, 1998 ---- 3:17 p.m.**

When Harry finally finished talking, he had no idea what he expected Severus to say. Part of him thought the most likely response would be the long-delayed lecture on recklessness and irresponsibility. A much bigger part of him suspected the Potions Master would know there was more than Harry was telling. 

For of course he'd said nothing whatever about what those two men had forced on him. He hadn't mentioned the two men at all. 

Severus Snape wasn't someone who could be easily fooled, Harry thought. At the very least, sheer nervousness would probably give away the fact that Harry was hiding something. Or perhaps it would have if it hadn't been for the matter of Bellatrix Lestrange's death. The Potions Master had said a couple of things about that... that evil as she was, it was only natural for Harry to be upset. Only natural, in fact, for him to not want to talk about any of this. 

At any rate, Severus didn't seem to suspect that Harry'd suffered a lot worse than _Cruciatus_ and a whipping. His mind was apparently on something else. 

"I thought you'd have asked me for a salve before now." 

Harry tried to make sense of that. It took him a moment. "Oh, for my face? Is the scar that bad? I... I haven't actually looked in a mirror since..." 

"You did find your bathroom?" 

"Yeah, thanks." 

"You didn't think to glance into one of the mirrors?" 

Harry had to admit, it did sound a bit odd. "Well, um... I was in a bit of a froth at the time. I... I didn't know what was behind the door, see. And when I saw it was a bathroom I was too relieved to think about how my scar might look." 

Severus levered himself away from Harry and sat up a little so he could move his wand in a precise arc in the air in front of them. A shimmering surface appeared as the air transformed itself to a smooth, reflective surface. "Are you ready to see, now?" 

Actually, Harry wasn't. Not that he was frightened it might be grotesque. Severus hadn't reacted like it was, so Harry figured it must not be too bad. He almost wished the scar _was_ off-putting, because then the other man wouldn't want him any longer, right? Harry's main attraction for Severus _had_ been his appearance, after all. Harry didn't think he was very handsome, but he understood now that Severus definitely did. 

Of course, he couldn't _really_ wish for Severus to find the sight of him repugnant. To make _Podentes_ work, Severus had to want Harry sexually. Actually, if Severus didn't want Harry that way, he wouldn't even be able to transfer Voldemort's power _into_ Harry. And that would be bad. Really bad. 

That little bit of protection was all that would keep him alive on his birthday. 

So now, Harry was torn between dreading the thought of sex and knowing that he couldn't _afford_ to dread it. 

Sometimes, he thought with a grim smile, it really stank to be Harry Potter. 

"Harry?" 

_Oh yeah, the conjured mirror..._ Severus was waiting for him to look at himself. Harry still didn't want to, but he did. 

As he'd expected, it wasn't really all that bad at all. Severus' healing potion had caused the injury to close over neatly. All that remained now was a thin, slightly ridged scar that ran down one side of his face. It looked old already. Whitish instead of red. 

"You're still a very good-looking young man," said Severus in a deep voice. "What Bellatrix did doesn't change that." 

Harry couldn't help but shiver. He could hear desire thrumming in that voice. Or maybe it was just his imagination playing tricks on him. Either way, just the thought that Severus was probably aroused made him feel slightly sick. 

He tried to pass it off with a bit of humour. "Oh, well, I'm pretty used to being scarred so it doesn't matter." 

"Perhaps that's why you haven't asked me for any salve. You're accustomed to thinking of your scars as something permanent." 

Harry blinked. That was right; he probably was. "Oh, you mean I can get rid of it?" 

A low chuckle as Severus reached into a robe pocket and drew out a small, squat jar. "Of course." 

"We didn't learn about any scar-removal creams in your class. Well, not before you kicked me out of it." 

"Technically this is a bruise salve," Severus informed him, his voice gone a little bit frosty. "I spent the bulk of the morning intensifying it to serve for scars as well." 

Did the other man expect him to be grateful? Well, Harry wasn't. Not when getting rid of that scar was only going to make him all the more appealing to Severus. Really, the salve wasn't for Harry at all, was it? It was for _Severus,_ so he could have that same Harry he'd had before. 

Only Harry _wasn't_ the same as before. He'd never be the same again. 

But he couldn't let Severus find out what had happened to change him. He couldn't even let him suspect. Knowing he had to act like nothing in the world was wrong, Harry made an effort to quash the anger rising up inside him. "All right, thanks," he said, holding out a hand for the little jar. "I'll use it later." 

"It should be applied when fresh." Severus pulled out the cork sealing the jar. "Another hour and I'll have to make a new batch." 

"Fine." Harry made a move to grab the jar, but Severus didn't let go of it. 

"That scar comes perilously close to your eye. You ought to close your eyes while it's applied, so I'll do it. Unless you have an objection?" 

Harry didn't, really. This would be like the kisses, he thought. Not sexual. He lay down on his back and folded his hands atop his waist, and waited. 

"Close your eyes," said Severus, all the frost gone from his voice, now. 

"Oh, yeah." 

The salve smelled like the loch, Harry thought as Severus began to massage it into his temple. Like fresh water surrounded by summer grass. It felt nice, too. Cool and calming, like it was reaching deep inside the injured tissues to tell them that everything would be just fine. Or maybe it was Severus' touch that was communicating that. Harry had already learned that the man's fingers were supple and adept at easing tension, but he hadn't realised that Severus could be quite so careful in how he used them. 

"There. Sit up and take another look," said Severus. 

"Hmmm?" 

"You can sleep when we're through. But if you're too tired to look, that's all right. Just roll over so I can do the other ones, and then you can rest." 

_Roll over so he could do the other ones?_ That woke Harry up, all right. He yanked his eyes open and sat up, scooting back a little bit. "Oh, that's all right. I mean, those ones aren't near my eyes. And they're not as bad as this one," he babbled. "I mean, a knife wound has got to be a lot worse than... um, whip marks." 

"Actually, a knife cuts more cleanly." Severus paused a moment. "Harry, you can't really reach back there well enough to do an adequate job. I can understand that you're perhaps... embarrassed? to have me see you in such a condition, but I have already seen." His voice went smooth again, that silky-smoothness that Harry was coming to recognise. "Allow me to assure you. You're still a very, very appealing young man." 

A roiling sickness washed through Harry's belly again. 

Harry still didn't want to let Severus anywhere near his bum, but he thought arguing further would only make Severus reassure Harry again about how desirable he was. Or worse, it might make him suspicious. Better just to let him do it. 

It was good practice anyway, he glumly told himself as he rolled over onto his stomach and waited. Severus was going to have every right to touch him like this, and was going to want to. A lot, probably. Harry had to be able to endure it. 

He grabbed a pillow to lean his head on and turned his face away from Severus. 

His pyjama shirt was tugged upward, and Harry pretty much expected his bottoms to be pulled down so that Severus could reach all the scars, but the Potions Master didn't begin that way. He feathered a very light touch along the top of each, almost as though feeling his way. 

_He knows,_ Harry thought with a jolt of alarm. 

"Does that feel all right?" 

"Um, yeah, not too bad," said Harry, wishing his voice wouldn't shake so much. 

"These are different from the scar on your face. A whip doesn't cut nearly as cleanly, and the way the welts overlapped... well, the tissue here is likely to be quite a bit more sensitive. Let me know if this starts to hurt." 

_Oh, so he doesn't know,_ Harry realised then. 

"These marks on your back are mild compare to what you have farther down," continued Severus as he began to lightly stroke salve across the marks on Harry's back. Harry shivered, then forced himself to go still. This was nothing, right? Severus was only touching from his waist upwards. And he needed treatment. He hadn't ever got a good look at the damage Bellatrix had inflicted, but he'd felt it all through that long day of waiting for Severus to come. It had felt like his skin had been stripped raw in places. 

"But it will all heal without a trace, Harry," said Severus. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing. "Just as your face already has." 

The scent of the salve grew stronger as Severus applied more of it to Harry's back, his fingertips moving in careful circles to massage it into each welt. After a moment more, Harry managed to relax. _It's just your back,_ he told himself. He still couldn't help but dread what was coming next, but for the moment, he was managing to cope. 

After what seemed like forever, Harry felt the man's hands at the waistband of his pyjamas. He stretched the elastic so that he could lower the pyjama bottoms without letting the fabric brush against Harry's scars. 

_This is it,_ thought Harry, tensing. _He might have asked before he just bared my arse! But no... Severus doesn't know that I wouldn't want him down there any longer. As far as he's concerned, we were doing frottage and all within the last week, and I sure wasn't complaining then, so why would I be now--_

Harry jumped slightly when he felt a touch along his left arse-cheek. 

"It's all right," said Snape. "Try to relax. It'll be over soon." 

Ha. Harry _wished_ it would be over soon, but he knew it wouldn't be. He had years of this ahead of him. A lifetime. It wouldn't matter that the scars on his skin healed over. Those weren't the cause of his nervousness, anyway. They didn't hurt. Well, not much. Severus had been right, they were a little bit sensitive. 

One long scar, and then another, and then another... Severus steadily salved each, his fingers moving so slowly that Harry wanted to scream. Really, he'd rather have the salve just slathered on, even if it hurt like mad. Anything to get this over with. 

"Hurry _up,_ " he finally gritted out. "You said it would be over soon!" 

"It will. I don't want to break the skin open," said Severus, his fingers lingering _more_. Or so it seemed to Harry. The salve didn't feel good at all, not down there. Even the smell of it was no longer pleasant. And still Severus just kept on, his fingers tracing the welts, moving bit by bit across Harry's cheeks almost all the way down to his upper thighs. 

A dark suspicion entered his mind, that Severus was actually enjoying this. 

"That's enough," Harry suddenly said, shifting over. He yanked up his bottoms with a little difficulty, then rolled back over. 

Severus corked the jar of salve and stowed it back in his pocket. "I had just finished, at any rate. You seem... overwrought. Perhaps it's best you try to sleep, now." 

"I... yeah," Harry conceded. He _was_ tired. Really tired. Madam Pomfrey had said he would be, had told him to be sure to get plenty of rest. 

He slid down in the bed a little more, and adjusted his pillow. Severus was still sitting there, his dark eyes watchful. A little chill went through Harry. What if he had another nightmare? What if he dreamed of... of... _them_ , and Severus heard? "Um, can I have some Dreamless Sleep, you think? I keep seeing..." 

"Yes, of course," murmured Severus. He used the connecting door to enter the dungeons, and was back in almost no time at all, a vial in his hand. 

Harry downed it without even grimacing at the taste. Then he glanced up. "Are you just going to stand there and watch me sleep?" 

"I've some reading to do." Severus propped the connecting door wide. "I'll hear if you need me, though." 

Harry yawned, the potion beginning to drag him under. "Yeah, all right." 

"I'll wake you up for dinner," promised Severus. 

Harry was too sleepy to reply, other than to burrow more deeply into his blankets and nod. 

  
  
  
  


**Sunday, June 14, 1998 ---- 3:40 p.m.**

Severus did try to read, but he couldn't keep his mind on the text. Unusual, for him, but then again, he didn't often hear the kinds of things Harry had divulged to him that afternoon. Or rather, he never heard such things. 

The conversation kept replaying in his mind, over and over. Not the details of the torture... he _did_ often hear the particulars of Death Eater depredations. It was part and parcel of being a member of the Dark Lord's inner circle. Hearing them from the point of view of the victim was a new sort of horror for him, but even that hadn't been what had struck him most forcefully. 

No, it was something else Harry had let slip as he'd talked his way through what he'd suffered at the hands of Bellatrix Lestrange. 

_"She was going to turn me over to V-- to the Dark Lord, but first she wanted to know about you, Severus. I... I didn't Occlude fast enough at first. She saw something. Did you know she suspected you weren't as loyal as you appeared?"_

_Severus had nodded as he lay there, Harry cradled against him.. "Bellatrix was forever challenging my conduct as a Death Eater."_

_A low, trembling shudder had passed through Harry; Severus moved to hold him a little more tightly._

_"She thought she had you. That if she could just break me, she could bring the... Dark Lord proof of your treachery. And I couldn't let her have it, Severus. I couldn't let her see into my mind again, not once, not even when..."_

Harry had gulped and fallen silent for a time, then in a voice almost completely devoid of emotions, had begun detailing just what Bellatrix had done to him. But then as now, Severus had a difficult time concentrating on anything but what he'd just heard. 

Harry hadn't suffered just because Bellatrix was cruelty itself, or because he'd been foolish enough to wander London without taking adequate precautions. 

_He'd suffered torture in order to protect Severus._

Severus laid his treatise aside and rose to his feet. A few steps later and he was through the magic doorway and was upstairs with his Harry. 

The young man's body was curled tightly around a pillow, almost hugging it. And he was shivering. 

Frowning, Severus drew an additional blanket over Harry, then pointed his wand at the embers in the Floo to rekindle them. When he turned back towards the bed, something twisted inside him. The things Bellatrix had done... curse after curse after curse... Harry hadn't even been able to remember them all, not clearly. Sometimes he'd only been able to babble out the effects he'd endured, not the incantations Bellatrix had used. The air being sucked cleanly from his lungs, so strongly that he thought they'd collapsed... the one where it felt like his blood had turned to acid in his veins... and all the while, Bellatrix's taunts as she tried to break Harry's resolve. 

Harry had described her voice like a worm crawling through his mind. And her words: 

_Whatever Severus Snape pretends, he's not really on your side, either, Potter. He's only on his own. He isn't worth this. You know he isn't._

Severus swallowed and pulled a chair over to the bedside, so close his knees were touching the mattress when he sat down. He wanted to be closer still, wanted to slide into the bed with Harry and hold him as he slept. Hold onto him. He'd realised a few days ago how satisfying it would be to have someone of his own, someone who couldn't leave him, but the realisation had been almost exclusively sexual. 

The feeling wrapping itself around him now, though... it couldn't have less to do with the pleasures he could have with Harry's willing body. No, the feeling was about Harry himself. 

Harry, who had suffered horribly. 

For Severus. 

Nobody had ever done that before, not for Severus. 

More to the point, Severus had never even imagined that anybody _would_. 

Of course, the analytical part of his mind knew that, horrifying as the notion might be, it was actually a good thing that Harry had gone to such lengths to protect Severus. That was all that had kept Bellatrix from taking Harry to the Dark Lord much sooner. Her determination to break him, to find something she could use against Severus, had ended up with her relaxing the sticking spell holding Harry prisoner... had in fact, been the very factor that had let Harry break free to kill her. 

Enduring torture at Bellatrix's hand had resulted in Harry being able to save himself. 

Knowing that, though, didn't negate what Harry had done. Not one bit. Because Severus knew full well that Harry hadn't endured all that pain in some bid to wait it out until Bellatrix made a mistake. Harry hadn't seen a way out, not at that point. He'd thought he was going to be tortured to death. He'd known that Bellatrix was utterly insane and would push him beyond what the human body could endure. He'd given up escaping. 

And still, he'd protected Severus' secrets. He'd given Bellatrix no information to bring to the Dark Lord. 

And now, Severus needed contact with the person who could do a thing like that. The urge to pull Harry up against him washed over him again, more strongly than before. But Harry desperately required rest, and Dreamless Sleep or no, being jostled like that would certainly wake him. After hearing all those _curses_ he'd endured... oh yes, the young man needed sleep. 

But Severus couldn't bear to not touch him at all, so he gently laid his hand atop one of Harry's, and laced their fingers together. 

He felt... connected to Harry, he realised. And not just because their hands were clasped. It was something else, something stirring deep down in his gut. Something he hadn't felt before. He tried to understand it, but there weren't words for the emotion. 

He recalled their conversation from that morning, when he'd promised to bind himself to Harry. He'd meant it, every word. He'd known that Harry needed to hear that. He'd known that the invocation required utter trust, and that only a mutual commitment was likely to foster it. 

But that had been a decision. An intellectual decision. He'd known what needed to be done, so he'd resolved himself to do it. 

And _this,_ now... this feeling twisting in his gut... it was a realisation that he _wanted_ to be bound to Harry. And more than that, that he wanted to be the kind of partner who was worthy of the loyalty Harry had already shown him. He'd never had anyone before, not like this. All he'd ever had were sexual partners. And Harry was more than that. 

Not just because the young man would be miserable being nothing but Severus' toy. 

Not just because crossing powers was going to require them to develop some rapport. 

No, Harry was more than a sexual partner now because _he was more._ He was worth more. 

Harry wasn't just a handsome face and a well-muscled body. He was someone Severus could respect. Someone, in fact, Severus did respect. 

Just a few weeks ago, he'd have scoffed at the very notion. What cause could he possibly have to respect a selfish, immature, arrogant young man who didn't even have enough sense to appreciate the fine art of potion-making? But Harry wasn't a single one of those things. 

_Well,_ Severus ruefully amended, _perhaps he is actually lacking a proper appreciation of potion-making._

That didn't matter to him though. Not now. 

At that moment, Harry made a small noise, almost a gasp, and shifted restlessly in the bed. 

Severus gripped his hand a little more tightly, trying to give him strength. The Dreamless Sleep was failing, he thought. Not completely, but enough so that Harry's nightmare visions were disturbing his rest. 

"N- n- no more," whispered Harry in a hoarse voice. "C- c- can't..." 

"Shhh," said Severus, his free hand coming up to stroke Harry's brow. The touch seemed to calm the young man. His tiny moans subsided. His eyes stopped moving beneath his closed eyelids. 

A fierce anger gripped Severus then. How _dare_ anyone attack and hurt Harry? 

It wasn't going to happen again. 

Ever. 

Severus pressed his lips tightly together as the fury and resolve inside him rose to new heights. He wished he'd done worse to that troll of an uncle. He wished Bellatrix were still alive so Severus could-- 

No, _no._ He didn't really wish that. He was too satisfied over the fact that she'd died at Harry's hand. As difficult as that was for the young man--and Severus knew it was difficult--he thought it was better that way. Harry was wounded now, and obviously insecure in his ability to defend himself. The chair wedged against the door was proof of that. 

But Harry hadn't needed to be rescued. In the end, he'd saved himself, and when he got over his horror at having taken life, he'd realise as much. 

The fierce anger gripping Severus didn't lessen, but it did coalesce into something slightly different. Fierce protectiveness, that was it. Harry probably didn't need protecting, of course. He was strong and capable and destined to only grow more so, considering all _Podentes_ implied. 

But Severus wanted to safeguard him anyway. 

And that meant continuing his façade as a Death Eater for as long as he possibly could. The plot against the Tower Bridge... had that just been Bellatrix, wreaking mayhem on her own, or had that been sanctioned by the Dark Lord? Had she been under instructions to try to find Harry Potter? It was public knowledge that he'd finished his seventh year and taken the Express away from Hogwarts. 

Had there been a concerted effort to seek Harry out? 

If so, there would doubtless be other attempts made. Severus needed to know every detail he could. Hogwarts, after all, wasn't impregnable. The castle had weaknesses. If the Death Eaters were going to exploit them, Severus was going to be prepared. He needed advance knowledge. 

Strange how his motives had changed, he thought. Harry had asked him more than once to stop spying. The request had irritated Severus. Rankled him, because he certainly wasn't about to take orders from an eighteen-year-old who knew less than nothing about the darker side of the wizarding world. He'd thought Harry presumptuous for demanding that, even. 

The request wouldn't irritate Severus now. He could see it differently; Harry was simply trying to safeguard him, the very thing Severus wished to do in return. But the instinct was misguided in the circumstances. This wasn't a case of _if_ another attack was made against Harry. There would be another attack; this latest prophecy had decreed as much. And what had the prophecy said about surviving that attack? 

_Invoke the rite not just in name,  
for only truth shall evil tame._

Severus nodded to himself, the words resonating inside him. _Invoke the rite not just in name._ Yes, that made sense. The whole purpose of _Podentes_ was protection. It was the master wizard's obligation to protect the supplicant. At first through direct action when needed, and then later, as the spell matured, through the crossing of powers. 

Pulling back from his spying now would almost be inviting danger. It would be cavalier, to say the least. The kind of thing a master wizard might do if he was taking _Podentes_ in name only. 

Severus, in contrast, was taking it seriously. 

  
  
  
  


**Sunday, June 14, 1998 ---- 6:11 p.m.**

Harry shifted in the bed, stretching a bit as he woke up. 

When he opened his eyes he saw Severus sitting in a chair close alongside, his chin propped in one hand as he leaned his elbow on an armrest. He glanced up when Harry sat up, though his expression looked... odd, somehow. Harry couldn't quite place it, except that it seemed more guarded than usual. 

"How are you feeling?" 

Harry untangled himself from the blankets and shoved at the pillow in his way. "Bit sticky, I suppose. Hmm, a little bit hungry, too." 

Severus nodded, his dark eyes thoughtful. "That's a good sign." 

Reaching out, Harry picked up the folded sheaf of parchment lying on his night-table. It turned out to be a potions article with a title so long and boring Harry couldn't even get through it. "A little light reading?" he joked, holding it out to Severus. "I... um, I thought you weren't going to watch me sleep." 

The Potions Master took the parchments. "I was waiting for you to wake, actually." And then, a little bit stiffly, "I thought we could have dinner together." 

"Oh." Harry thought about that for a moment, wondering why it seemed so unexpected. Maybe because they hadn't had many meals together, all things considered. He looked around. "Sure, that's good. I'll find my robe and come down." 

"Shall we eat here? Your table is charmed the same as mine." 

Harry blinked. That was unexpected, too. But he supposed it made sense. "So I can fool the elves, right? Yeah, it would look a bit odd if I was in the dungeons for every meal for the next hundred years." 

Severus smiled slightly. "The elves can't tell who is requesting food, not the way you're thinking. And at any rate, once the school term is underway you'll be expected to take your meals at the Head Table." 

"Really?" 

"Junior staff are still staff." 

It hadn't occurred to Harry before then just how _junior_ he really was. But now, thinking about looking out at the long house tables, he realised that almost all the students at Hogwarts would have been here while he was still a student, himself. And that included Ginny. "Um, Severus. I... I have to tell you something important and you have to promise not to hex anybody for it, all right?" 

Severus folded his arms in front of him. "That remains to be seen. What is the problem?" 

Harry didn't want to say, not without that promise. On the other hand, _not_ saying was just asking for trouble. He sighed, knowing he'd have to explain before Ginny arrived for her seventh year. Might as well be now. "It's Ginny Weasley." Harry cleared his throat. "She has an awful crush on me, has for years. It's not reciprocated, not at all, I swear," he hurriedly added, in case Severus misunderstood and thought Harry was saying it might interfere with the invocation. "It's just... she'll be in Defence and on the Gryffindor team, so I'll probably be around her a bit, and... well, she's hasn't taken a hint yet. I mean, she might... um, take it into her head to try and kiss me or something." 

Hopefully she wouldn't, after the things Harry had said to her at the party. Things he still felt bad about, but they were said now. And maybe that was just as well. 

Severus' eyebrows had drawn together, Harry saw. "Does she often attempt such things?" 

"No, but it has happened." Harry sighed and shoved a second pillow behind his back so he had something better to lean on. "I told her, clear as I could without mentioning _Podentes_ , that it was absolutely hopeless. That I'd never be interested in her and she should find somebody who could be. And honestly, I think I hurt her enough that she'll give it up. But if she throws herself into my arms and kisses me... well, is the spell going to punish me? Damn, maybe I'll have to be the one to hex her." 

"Her actions alone shouldn't cause the spell to harm you, not unless you have consented in some way." Severus had a look in his eyes that Harry recognised. It was the same one he tended to get whenever Hermione came into the conversation. "You won't have to hex her. I'll have Albus speak with Miss Weasley." 

Harry could only imagine how embarrassing that would be. Poor Ginny. "No, no, it's all right. I mean, if the spell won't react then I can put up with--" 

"On the contrary, you will be afforded the respect due a member of Hogwarts' staff," interrupted Severus. "It is entirely inappropriate for a student to accost any instructor, no matter how junior. Miss Weasley will be made to understand this or she will be invited to finish her education elsewhere." 

"That's a little harsh." 

Severus unfolded his arms, the parchment in one hand fluttering as he stood up. "I don't believe it is. So then, dinner?" 

Harry supposed that Severus' way of changing the subject. But it was better than being told to shut up, or worse, being reminded that he really didn't have any say, not in anything. So he let it go, and swivelled his legs off the bed. 

When a vial started chiming, Severus fetched it from his robe pocket for him. 

Harry downed it. "Last one, I think. Hmm, dinner. Can we eat in half an hour? I want a bath. And something clean to wear." 

"A change of pyjamas, then." Severus waved his wand and a drawer at the bottom of the wardrobe flew open. Pyjamas came sailing out and landed on the bed. Soft cotton, dark green. All the clothes they'd bought in the wizarding section of Strasgard were in Slytherin colours, or just about. Once they'd gone into the Muggle part of town, Severus had let Harry have more of a say. Hmm, maybe that proved there was room to compromise over things. 

He was about to say that he was tired of hanging about in pyjamas, but then he stood up and felt how shaky he still was. He'd sort wanted to get dressed and take a walk around the castle or something, but it seemed like that had better wait. Tomorrow, maybe. 

"Wish I had something to read, later," mused Harry. "All this lying around is getting a bit dull. Not that I think I'm up for Quidditch yet." 

Severus gestured toward the trunk in the corner of the room. "You haven't destroyed your things yet, so I assume your books are available." 

"Schoolbooks?" Harry couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm on holiday, Severus. But, it doesn't matter. I'll figure out something to do." 

With that, Harry headed off to his bath. 

  
  
  
  


**Sunday, June 14, 1998 ---- 7:12 p.m.**

Severus wasn't sure why he should feel nervous. Harry had said he wanted something to read, after all. And the books he'd fetched from the library weren't schoolbooks by any stretch of the imagination. He thought Harry would enjoy reading them well enough. But still, Severus wasn't quite sure how to bring them into the conversation. 

At least the young man's appetite had returned, he thought. Severus had long since finished his own meal and was nursing a glass of wine while he waited for Harry to finish eating. 

When the young man finally pushed his plate away, it was picked nearly clean. 

"Dessert?" Severus suggested. 

"No, I think I'd better stop." 

"A glass of wine, then?" 

"Maybe a half glass," decided Harry, tapping the table before Severus could. "Um, sweet wine, then. Surprise me." 

Severus managed not to say anything scathing, but apparently the look on his face spoke for him. 

"Yeah, I know," Harry said, laughing. "You want me to learn the names of the different wines." When his drink glimmered into existence though, he made no move to touch it. His humour abruptly fell away, his green eyes darkening as his fingers restlessly poked at the tablecloth. 

"Harry?" 

"Oh God, I just thought of something. If you want me to learn them then I bloody well have to learn them. 'Cause I have to do everything you say, even when you don't _say_ it." 

Severus leaned forward and covered Harry's hands with his own. "If it were a matter of great import to me, then yes, you would need to do as I wish. But truly Harry, I don't care that much if your preferences remain... well, a bit immature in my view." At least now he knew how to broach the other matter that had been on his mind. "In fact, after you mentioned wanting something to read besides textbooks, I popped down to the library to get you something more to your taste." 

Relaxing a little bit, Harry smiled wryly. "And what would my tastes be?" 

Clearly, he didn't expect Severus to have any idea. "Quidditch." 

Harry's eyes widened. "You went and fetched me some Quidditch books? Really?" 

Severus felt inordinately pleased that he got it right. "Well, you did mention it earlier." 

"Yeah." Harry picked up his wine and drank half of it, then set his glass back down. "You know, I wonder if I really know enough to do the jobs you picked out. I mean, Defence... that won't be so bad; I'll just follow the professor's lead, though I think I'll go mad if it's another idiot. But Quidditch tactics instructor? I'll be on my own with that one. And it's not like I've played professionally or anything. I'm no expert." 

"Perhaps reading the books will give you ideas on ways to approach your lessons." 

"That's why you got them for me?" 

"No," said Severus, hoping Harry would believe him. He wasn't sure why it should matter, but it did. "I merely thought you would enjoy them. They're in my parlour. Why don't we read in there until you feel ready to sleep?" 

Standing, Severus tapped the table to clear everything away. Then he wondered if he should have let Harry be the one to do that. On the other hand, these were his quarters, technically. If he was too diffident about that fact, it might play havoc with the spell that was... well, in short order going to rule their lives. Harry was obviously cognizant of the complications, given the question he'd asked about wines. 

Shrugging off the matter, Severus followed Harry over to the door connecting their bedrooms. It was a little bit awkward trailing all the way through both sets of rooms to reach his parlour, he thought. Ridiculous, in fact, when they could far more easily have flooed, but Severus didn't say anything about the matter. 

His parlour was dark when they entered. Severus flicked his wand to summon forth light, wishing they could do something a bit more intimate than reading. He'd much rather take Harry in his arms and kiss him for a good long while. Persuade him to doff the pyjama top, perhaps, for a massage... 

The image doused his ardour, reminding him of the scars he'd treated just that afternoon. The marks were all gone now, of course, but remembering them helped Severus come to his senses. Harry might look largely recovered, but he'd was in fact still recuperating. 

Best to just read as he'd suggested, yes. 

Harry sat down on the settee and propped his legs up on it so he could lean back into the corner. It was where he used to sit when he'd come down here to study, but now, Severus was pleased to see, he looked a great deal more like he was making himself at home. 

The Quidditch books were at hand on the coffee table. Harry turned them to look at the spines and laughed. 

"What?" 

Another short laugh. "You know, when you said _library_ , I did wonder. It's just... I've read all these, Severus. I'm pretty sure I've read every Quidditch book Hogwarts has." 

Severus felt a bit like he had earlier that day, when the Coca-Cola he'd gone to such trouble to procure had actually distressed Harry instead of soothing him. Though of course the young man didn't appear perturbed, this time. He had already selected a book and was looking through it, his forehead wrinkled in thought. 

"Hmm, this might be a good way to practice dodging Bludgers. Well, if nobody gets hit, that is..." 

"Harry." 

He waited until the young man looked up. 

"I was nervous as well, you realise, when I first knew I'd have to instruct students not very much younger than myself." 

Harry smiled. "Sure you were. _You,_ nervous. I don't think so." 

"Oh, I am no stranger to it. I quite assure you." 

Harry still looked like he doubted that, but Severus' wording had apparently caught his attention. "Oh yeah, that's right. Your job too... it was sort of picked out and handed to you, Dumbledore wanting it to look like you were doing as told and spying on him." 

Severus remembered his resentment at the time. Not just of Albus, but the Dark Lord as well. He'd known, of course, that in taking the Dark Mark, he'd gotten himself into the situation to begin with. But still, having his career chosen for him had been frustrating. No matter that he truly did love the discipline of Potions. 

Harry was dealing with the situation better than Severus had, especially considering that Harry had brought none of this on himself. He had true cause for resentment. And yet, somehow he'd managed to accept, instead. 

Harry put his book down and started waving his wand about above his head. "How do you get one of those glowing globes to appear? I like a lot of light when I read." 

"Yes, I remember the pink _Lumos._ " 

"The _highlighting_ spell," Harry corrected, flashing a grin. "I'll teach it to you if you like." 

"I'll keep that in mind. As for your own difficulty, you'll find that _orbus luminare_ will--" 

"Shed some light on the problem?" Harry laughed again, then did the spell. "Hmm, not as strong as yours was but it'll do." 

With that, he slid farther onto the settee, almost laying down, and began to concentrate on his book. Severus did likewise, though what he really wanted was to leave his chair and join Harry on the settee. There was no room now, though, unless he lifted Harry's feet up and put them in his lap. 

Sighing, Severus immersed himself, for the third time that day, in the intricacies of potion heat-retention. This time he actually managed to get some reading done. 

He wasn't sure how long had passed when Harry, yawning and stretching, got up off the settee. "I'm for bed, I think. Do you think I can have some more Dreamless Sleep?" 

Severus summoned a vial and got up to stand in front of Harry. "You can't take this forever, you know." 

"I know. It's just..." Harry shivered as he stood there, his good humour now vanished. The Quidditch books had helped him push aside his memories of the attack, Severus thought, but now they were streaming back. "Too soon." 

"All right," said Severus gently, pulling him into an embrace. Harry's muscles felt wonderful through the soft cloth. A good-night kiss... that would be all right. Drawing the young man closer, Severus bent down and laid his mouth against Harry's. Something calming. Something almost chaste, the way they'd kissed earlier that day. 

Harry's lips parted slightly, his breath catching. For one long moment he seemed to freeze, just as if he did think Severus was going to demand more than a kiss. He pushed away, his palms flat on Severus' chest, and stared up with apprehensive green eyes. 

Not accusing, though. Just... concerned. 

"Am I still in charge? I mean, in bedroom things? You... you said I could be, right up to the invocation. And you said we'd... um, abstain, didn't you?" 

Severus nodded, his hair brushing against his cheeks. Harry's eyes followed the motion as he drew in a deep breath. 

"All right, then. I... good night." 

"Good night." 

Harry turned away and followed the hallway that led to Severus' bedroom, but Severus knew that when he followed the same route later, there'd be no Harry waiting in his bed. 

And there wasn't. In fact, the connecting door was closed. 

Disappointed in that, Severus showered, pleasuring himself as the warm water cascaded over his body. He didn't have to abstain, after all. They'd decided that only for Harry, so that coming three times on the seventeenth wouldn't pose a trial. 

Afterwards, alone in his bed, Severus began counting the hours that remained until the invocation. 

  
  
  
  


**Sunday, June 14, 1998 ---- 10:13 p.m.**

Harry stared at the vial of Dreamless Sleep Severus had pressed into his hand as they'd said good night. He knew it would make him sleep, would mute his nightmares to mere bad dreams, even. He knew he needed it. 

But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to take it. 

It had been different, before, he thought, remembering his nap. He'd felt all right drinking the potion. So what had been different? 

Maybe the light, he decided. Right now the only light in the bedroom was from the dull glow of the embers in the fireplace. Harry picked up his wand and spelled the lights on so it was just like daylight inside, then drew a deep breath and uncorked the vial. But still, he didn't feel comfortable. Something was eating at the edge of his consciousness, making him shiver, but only on the inside. He just didn't feel safe. 

It was stupid and ridiculous; he knew that. But still, he couldn't help the feeling. Even having all the lights on didn't dispel it, not truly, though it did help. 

Harry propped the vial against his pillows and pulled on his dressing gown, then padded out to his front room. Sitting down at the little table, he ordered cocoa and biscuits. Hot milk was supposed to be a good bedtime drink, after all. Dobby had brought him some once when Harry couldn't sleep. Harry had almost gagged, but if the hot milk was turned into cocoa, well, that would work, he thought. 

But it didn't. Two cups of cocoa later and he was no closer to being able to take the Dreamless Sleep. In desperation, he even summoned the vial from his bedroom and poured it into a third cup of cocoa, thinking that might help him swallow it down. 

No such luck. The cocoa took on a sickly hue, as if warning him that whatever he needed, it wasn't a potion. 

So what did he need, then? What would take the ragged, jittery feeling inside him away? 

Maybe, he thought, the thing to do would be to barricade the front door again. Harry actually laid his hands on the chair he'd used before, actually began to push it in the right direction, but then, two things stopped him. One, he was rational enough to know it couldn't do a bit of good; it wouldn't make him feel better. And perhaps more importantly, he hadn't missed the look on Severus' face earlier, when the man had pulled the chair away from the door so he could sit in it and have dinner with Harry. It had been a look of extreme concern, as if Harry was losing his mind and something had to be done. 

And Harry wasn't losing his mind. He'd known, even then, how useless the barricade really was. He just hadn't been able to stop himself from depending on it. Or pretending he could, maybe. 

Harry started pacing in his sitting room, back and forth, his wand out as he tried to figure himself out. It was just a vial of potion, for goodness' sake! And he'd taken it earlier and been glad for it! So why the problem now? 

_Severus was right here,_ he suddenly realised. _Maybe that's what was different. I told him not to watch me sleep, but I knew he was going to be next door, reading or something. And anyway, he didn't stay next door. He was back here when I woke up. Looked like he'd been sitting with me for a while._

Severus was next door again, Harry knew. He even knew that if something _did_ happen, the man would wake up in a flash and be at Harry's side the next instant. But knowing that didn't help much. 

All at once, Harry understood what the problem was. Earlier, that had just been a nap. But now, going to bed... he was going to be settling in for the whole night long. And he didn't want to spend the night alone and vulnerable, asleep and unable to defend himself. 

He wanted to be with Severus. 

Without thinking twice about it, Harry was stumbling into his bedroom and through the connecting door. He didn't stop to decide what he was going to say to Severus, who sat up as soon as Harry burst in. 

"Can I sleep with you?" 

  
  
  
  


**Sunday, June 14, 1998 ---- 10:34 p.m.**

Severus shifted over without a word and lifted up his blankets so Harry could slide into bed beside him. Only when the young man was settled in did he speak. "Problem?" 

"I..." Harry seemed to burrow a little bit more deeply beneath the covers. "I don't know. I just wanted to sleep with you. It's all right, isn't it?" 

Severus rolled on his side to face Harry, though in the dark he couldn't see a great deal. He couldn't help but smile at the question. "Yes, it's all right." 

His hand settled onto Harry's shoulder to nudge him into the position they were most used to. Both on them on their sides, facing the same way, nestled against each other. Harry had fallen asleep like that before, after Severus had reached around and brought him to a climax. And it was a nice position in other ways. Severus liked the feel of Harry's arse rubbing up against him. It had let him fantasise of what they'd have later. 

Harry yanked himself away, so suddenly that he almost tumbled out of bed. "No!" he yelped, the sound slightly panicked. "I... I can't." 

Severus drew his hand back, puzzled. Harry hadn't shied away from being close to him like that, not since... Then the answer came to him. _Of course._ No doubt Harry was having the same problem Severus was. Not an hour ago he'd been asking if they were still going to abstain, and Severus had answered _yes_ , and now what was Severus doing but proposing they sleep in a position that was frankly suggestive. No wonder the young man had balked. 

The last thing Harry needed as he recovered was to become aroused and not be allowed to do anything about it. 

Chuckling slightly, Severus moved back over to his side of the bed. "Perhaps you'd prefer a little more space." 

The mattress jiggled slightly as Harry shook his head. "I... I thought maybe you could hold me? Just, not like that." 

_Harry wanted Severus to hold him._

Thankful that he'd already satisfied his bodily desires in the shower, Severus only said, "Well, you are in charge, Harry. If you'd just tell me how you'd like us to sleep?" 

Harry hadn't planned any of this, Severus sensed as the young man hesitated. He'd only known that he wanted to be with Severus, even if they couldn't really pleasure each other the way they'd been doing before term had ended. The bed suddenly felt warmer to Severus. Not too warm, though. Just right. 

"I thought... maybe this," murmured Harry as he sidled back over. "Um, can you roll on your back?" 

Once Severus had, Harry moved closer to lie on his side facing Severus. The young man's cheek settled onto Severus' chest, just below his shoulder. "Um, you could put your arm around me, you know." 

Severus wrapped and arm around Harry and pulled him close, shifting slightly until he was more comfortable. "Like that?" 

"Yeah, that's good." Harry shifted too, settling in, his arm coming across Severus' chest. "All right?" 

"Yes." 

Harry sighed a little, the sound one of relaxation. "You know, I thought you'd sleep in a nightshirt, not pyjama bottoms." 

Severus smiled. "I used to. But I thought you'd find it off-putting." 

"Yeah... like the hair goo," murmured Harry, his hair tickling Severus as he nodded. 

There was silence for a while, Harry relaxing more and more. Several times Severus had the impression that the young man was about to say something more. Finally, he did. 

"Um, that was nice earlier, Severus. Just sitting and reading together..." 

Severus moved his hand a little to stroke the contours of Harry's back. "Yes, it was." 

"Didn't think..." 

"You didn't think it would be?" 

Harry yawned, slumping a bit more against Severus, shifting his upper leg so that it rested on one of the other man's. "Didn't think you would want me hanging around much. The other rooms aren't just to get me out of your way?" 

"No, no. They're a façade. But also a retreat for you, and a way to have the kind of life you should." 

Severus hadn't considered that the rooms might be interpreted in that light. On reflection, he couldn't really fault the question. He'd given Harry plenty of reason to suppose he didn't care for his company, after all. He'd tried to do less of that in the past few weeks, of course, but he couldn't expect the scathing things he'd said prior to be forgotten already. And actually, the last thing he'd done to convince Harry he didn't want to spend time together had been fairly recent. 

_You wouldn't even take me out to dinner,_ Harry had complained. Not only had he expected to be locked up in the dungeons, he'd thought he'd have no company except a man who didn't like anything about him, except his body. And from that had grown his dangerous venture into London. 

_I should have told him about the rooms sooner,_ Severus thought, stung now in a way he hadn't been before. Now that he knew all Harry had endured... now that he understood that it had been endured in an effort to protect _Severus_ , he saw more clearly than ever that he should never have left Harry in such despair to begin with. Of course, he hadn't really understood that Harry was in despair. 

But that was because he didn't really know Harry, Severus suddenly saw. His fault wasn't so much in not telling him about the rooms, but in not even realising that Harry needed to know about them. 

Of course, the young man might have still decided to have a holiday in London. He did have that Gryffindor impulsiveness cutting a wide streak through his personality. But then again, he might not have. 

Especially if Severus had listened to what Harry had been trying to tell him about his Muggle family. Looking back, it was obvious that Harry had good reason not to spend protracted time in Surrey. And what had Severus done? 

Insisted. 

So what Bellatrix had done... it really did have a great deal to do with what Severus had done, first. 

"Oh, Harry," Severus whispered sadly, turning his face towards the young man in his arms. 

Harry, however, was already asleep, his chest gently moving against Severus' bare skin as he breathed. Severus moved his face to the side and carefully dropped a kiss on the young man's brow. He wanted to do more, wanted to roll atop Harry and make another vow, this time one to _listen to him,_ but of course right now wasn't the time for something like that. Harry needed his rest. 

So yes, staying still would be best. Still and quiet. Too late now to ask Harry why he hadn't taken the Dreamless Sleep potion. But perhaps it was best not to ask that, in any case. He wouldn't want to imply that Harry ought to resort to potions all the time. What Harry had suffered had been horrible, and Severus certainly wouldn't begrudge him potions that he needed, but if he could manage to sleep without such aids? All the better. 

Closing his eyes, Severus held Harry against him and soaked in his warmth. Yes, someone of his own. It was going to be even better than he had anticipated. 


	45. Chapter 45

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Monday, June 15, 1998 ---- 9:43 a.m.**

When Harry opened his eyes, the first thing he thought was, _Strange. This doesn't look like my room. Where am I?_

Of course, he was thinking of his dormitory in the Tower, not the new rooms Severus had provided for him. The instant he thought of Severus, though, he recognized where he was. Memory came flooding back. He blushed a little when his own words rang out in his mind. _Can I sleep with you?_

Severus had been really good about it, though. He hadn't even laughed. He'd just held Harry and made him feel nice and protected. All night long, Harry had to think, since he hadn't even had a nightmare... 

_And he hadn't taken the potion. No Dreamless Sleep, not a drop._

Harry was still grappling with the shock of that when a footfall interrupted his concentration. He looked up to see Severus stepping through the doorway that led down the hall. His hair and face seemed awfully greasy, Harry thought, shuddering a bit. It had been a while since he'd seen Severus looking so awful. 

"Ah, you're awake. Feeling all right?" 

Glancing at his watch, Harry was shocked to see how late it was. "How long have you been up?" 

"Some hours. I've still some brewing to do for the invocation. But I thought you probably needed as much sleep as you could manage, so I let you be." 

Harry sat up more and stretched. "I slept really well, Severus. Thanks for letting me... uh..." When the other man's eyes darkened, Harry thought the expression looked possessive. A few weeks ago, that realisation would have alarmed him. Now, he was sort of grateful for it, strange as that seemed. Because it meant protection. Severus wouldn't let anything else bad happen to him, Harry just knew it. And that was why he hadn't had any bad dreams. 

"Um, can I sleep here again tonight? I... see, I was getting these nightmares every time I closed my eyes. Of... well, you know. Bellatrix. But it seems like they won't come if I'm with you. I..." As Severus moved closer, Harry glanced away, feeling stupid. "You make me feel safe." 

A finger under his chin urged his face up. "You needn't justify wanting to sleep in my bed, Harry. You're quite welcome here." 

_Uh-oh._ Harry shivered a little, hearing what hadn't been said. He knew why he was welcome, and it wasn't only because Severus wanted him to be able to sleep well. "Um, yeah," he said, shifting away from the other man. Harry swung his legs out the opposite side of the bed and stood up. Brrr. Cold floor. 

Spotting his wand on the night table, he snatched it up and summoned his slippers, which he now vaguely remembered kicking off before climbing into bed. Once his feet were tucked away in the slippers, he felt better. 

"Well, I must get back to my brewing," murmured Severus. "I'd say to make yourself at home, but I think you know to do that. Yes?" 

Harry nodded, but before he could say anything else, he heard a knock on a door. It was audible enough, but somehow sounded oddly distant. Almost as though it had an echo. 

"Ah. That will be for you," said Severus, gesturing towards the open door connecting Harry's rooms to his. 

Harry blinked. "Oh, right." It seemed rude to just leave. He wasn't sure why it did, but it did. "Um... so I'll see you a bit later?" 

"I don't think I can leave this potion until three, but I'll join you then for a late lunch." 

"Three's an awfully late lunch," said Harry as the knocking sound came again. "But I haven't had breakfast yet, so... yeah, all right. See you then." 

He made his way through the door that led upstairs and closed it, realising as he walked that he felt really steady on his feet. Well, more so than he had yesterday, at any rate. Smiling at that, Harry walked out of his bedroom and across the sitting room so he could open the front door to his suite. 

Madam Pomfrey stood there, wearing sage-coloured robes instead of her usual starched medi-witch uniform. "Sleeping late, were we, Mr Potter?" she asked, peering at him closely. 

"Yeah, but I feel great," said Harry. "I finished all the potions yesterday--" 

"Yes, I know." She paused for a moment, then prompted, "May I come in?" 

She hadn't asked the last time. But then again, Harry had been a lot sicker, so she'd been treating him like a patient. "Sure. I'll just pop into some clothes. Be right back." 

She held up a hand. "There's no need. If you want to spend the day resting, you're certainly entitled." 

"No, I want to be up and about," insisted Harry. "Just a second." 

It took longer that that, of course. Harry pulled open his wardrobe and remembered then that only his new clothes were in there. That was all right, though. He might as well get used to them. Once he was dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, he went back out to talk with Madam Pomfrey. His new trainers felt stiff on his feet. They even squeaked a little bit as he walked. 

"You do look as if you feel better," said the medi-witch, nodding. She was still standing, Harry saw. 

Feeling like a right idiot, he realised then that as far as she was concerned, these were his rooms and she was a guest in them. A guest with good manners. "Um, would you like to sit down?" Harry offered, waving slightly at the two chairs that flanked his small table. Good thing he could contact the kitchens with it, he thought. "Would you like some tea?" 

His stomach hadn't got the news that he was trying to be a good host; it picked that moment to rumble. Loudly. 

Madam Pomfrey's answering smile was indulgent. "Yes, thank you. And please do order yourself some breakfast, Mr Potter. You haven't had a chance yet this morning, I gather." 

Harry grinned and asked for four rashers of bacon with a couple of soft-boiled eggs. But first he ordered the tea. When it all came together, the medi-witch insisted on being mother so Harry could eat. "Milk and sugar," admitted Harry. "Lots of both." 

She took her tea without either, and sipped it for a while before speaking again. "I mainly came by to see how you were doing, and to offer you a little advice." 

Harry finished chewing his honey-cured bacon. "Advice?" 

"Yes." She paused, her gaze sympathetic. "Mr. Potter, your physical injuries have been healed, but I fear you have sustained other injuries. Ones not so amenable to salve and spell and potion." 

Harry picked up his tea and held the cup in front of his face a little longer than he really needed to. She didn't sound like she knew about... no, he was sure she didn't, as her next words seemed to show. 

"Recovery from prolonged exposure to _Cruciatus_ is not as simple as merely repairing the nerve damage," she went on. "You may find yourself experiencing psychological effects for quite some time. I want you to understand that these are normal and do not imply any weakness on your part." 

Harry personally thought it wasn't _Cruciatus_ that was making him feel quite so jittery and unsafe. And definitely, it wasn't curses that filled his nightmares. But he had those solved now. Sleeping where he felt safe would ward them away. But still, it was kind of Madam Pomfrey to take the time to talk to him like this. "Thanks," he said, putting his teacup down. 

"If you begin to feel you need someone to talk to, I would be willing to listen myself or if you prefer, recommend someone with specific training in this area." 

"Oh, I'm sure I don't need that." Thinking to show her he was just fine, Harry started eating again. 

"It can also help," she gently added, "to simply talk to a friend." 

_I did that already,_ Harry thought at once. Only afterwards did it dawn on him what he'd just admitted to himself. He'd thought of Severus as a friend. Well, Harry trusted him, and they were getting on these days, so yeah, he supposed that friend was accurate enough. Not that they were good friends or anything. But yes, Severus was a friend. 

And the medi-witch was right, just as Severus had been. It _had_ helped to talk about what he'd gone through. The curses, at least. But Severus knew what it was to suffer like that, so of course he'd been a good person to talk to. Severus _hadn't_ ever suffered the... the other thing. He'd even said, plain as day, that he'd been willing to have sex with Voldemort. No force involved. _Not rape, Harry, no,_ he'd said. 

So Harry couldn't see what point there could be in telling Severus what was in his nightmares. Besides, he couldn't talk about that, not even to a friend. 

"I don't need to talk to anyone," he said, his voice coming out a little strained. 

"You may not," Pomfrey agreed, her tone calm and pleasant. "But I needed to make the offer. Keep it in mind, Mr Potter." 

Harry wanted to get her off the subject, so he said the first thing that came to mind. "Mr. Potter... I sort of thought people on staff would start to call me Harry once I worked here." 

"Harry, yes. Very good. And you may call me Poppy. Although, in front of students I would still prefer to be addressed as Madam Pomfrey." 

"Sure." Harry smiled and tried it out. "Poppy." It felt awfully strange. Sort of smug, in fact. "So I thought I'd have a walk 'round the castle today. That's all right, isn't it?" 

"Oh, certainly. Just be careful not to overdo. I think you'll find it'll be another day or two before your full strength comes back." Finishing her tea, she rose to her feet. "Well, I must be off, Harry. I'm returning to a little village in Milan where I like to summer. If you need me for anything, however, Albus can get in touch. All right?" 

"Sure. Have a good summer." Harry stood up too and walked her to the door, then sat back down and ordered a fresh pot of tea. When he was through with breakfast, he had a quick wash, then pocketed his wand and headed for the front door. 

Pulling it open wasn't any sort of problem. Stepping over the threshold, though... that was another story. Harry made it half-way before a freezing chill started somewhere near his lungs and spread outward into his fingers. Thinking it was a trick of Peeves', perhaps, he snapped his wand out and yanked it left and right... but no, Peeves was nowhere to be found. 

And the cold wasn't in the corridor; it was inside Harry. 

Shaking, Harry backed up into his sitting room and closed the door, then leaned on it, shaking. Was he really this pathetic? Was he really afraid to walk the halls by himself? 

The answer was pretty depressing when it came. 

_Yes._

He thought of asking Severus to come with him, but the other man was brewing and wouldn't be done for hours. So who did that leave, the headmaster? Harry didn't particularly want to see him, even if he had kept his word and stopped by the day before. 

Harry moved away from the door. He could read the Quidditch books some more, he thought. Hmm, he'd left them in the other rooms, but that was no problem. He could just pop through and get them. Maybe take some notes on ideas for strategies the teams should start off with... 

_I really am pathetic,_ Harry thought, disgusted with himself. _I've walked these halls for seven years. They're perfectly safe! Well, almost always, anyway. Am I really going to let myself get spooked like this? It's not like Bellatrix is out there, or...._

Stomping back over to the front door, Harry yanked it open with both hands and leapt over the threshold. There, it was done. Now all he had to do was keep walking. 

Anger helped, he found. He stomped his way down one corridor and then another, then went down a flight of stairs and down a few more halls. _That's right,_ he thought as he pounded his feet against stone. _I'm not pathetic, I'm not_.

After a while, he found himself in the entrance hall with no clear recollection of how he'd got there. That was all right, though. He'd figure out the way back to his rooms when he felt like returning. He'd wandered the castle enough in the past that getting lost in it didn't bother him very much. 

Hogwarts, he soon realised, was pretty different in the summer. The students all went home, and he'd heard somewhere that none of the staff stayed, either. They must all have already left, he realised, except for Pomfrey, Dumbledore, and Severus. It made him wonder a couple of things. Like, where did Severus usually spend his summers? And, would the headmaster be leaving after the invocation? 

Would he and Severus be the only wizards left in the castle? 

That sounded kind of boring. Maybe Severus would want to go where he usually did? Or maybe not, considering they were going to try to keep _Podentes_ a secret for as long as possible. Which meant they couldn't really be seen together. So probably they'd be stuck in the castle until term began... 

When he crossed in front of the doors to the library, Harry thought of getting some other books to read. Advanced Defence, things like that, just in case Dumbledore managed to hire a good teacher for once. _Not that Remus wasn't good_ , he hurriedly told himself. An old ache settled in his chest, that feeling of wishing he could talk to Remus. But it was like wishing for a dream, really. The werewolf never had made much effort to stay in close contact. It wasn't like they were good friends, or like the man had become any sort of stand-in for his godfather after Sirius had died. Harry just wished that he had. 

Hmm, the library doors were closed and warded. Thinking he must be staff now, Harry tried a few passwords. Candy names all, just in case Dumbledore had sealed it up for the summer. But he couldn't get the doors to swing open. 

As he began walking back in the general direction of the Tower, his steps got slower and slower. Hmm, Madam Pomfrey had said not to do too much. Harry realised then that he'd overdone a bit and would be glad to get back to his own rooms--Severus' extra rooms--so he could have a bit of a lie-down. As it was, he ended up having to stop and rest a bit on a stone bench just outside the Great Hall. 

He got lost finding the rooms, but only for about five minutes. After that he was pretty sure he understood where they were in relation to everything else. Saying _Obi-wan Kenobi_ , though, called to mind seeing Star Wars with Richard. So maybe that hadn't been such a great idea for a password. He couldn't afford to think about Richard, ever again. 

Harry lay down for a little while, but he didn't sleep. After a bit he decided that Severus' comment about joining him for lunch probably meant that the man would come here. So Harry went out to the sitting room. Hmm, he hadn't noticed when he'd stumbled in, but the elves had cleared away his breakfast mess without him asking. Now, to decide what to have for lunch. He didn't want Severus to take one look at the food and get a scornful look in his eyes. 

But neither did he want another sandwich with a fried egg on top. 

Salads seemed like a pretty safe choice. Yeah, with some crusty French bread. And a cheese tray, maybe. And mineral water to drink. No way was Harry going to try ordering wine. Harry tapped the table and gave it a few instructions, being specific enough that he thought he'd get something close to what he'd asked for. 

  
  
  
  


**Monday, June 15, 1998 ---- 2:57 p.m.**

The potion for the ritual bath at last bottled, Severus spelled away the protective coating he'd slathered over himself earlier, then ran his fingers through his hair, checking that every last trace of greasiness had vanished. 

Before stepping into the Floo to join Harry, he spent a moment gathering up what he needed. Throughout the day, every time there had been a lull in his brewing, he'd considered what he wanted to say to Harry and how he wanted to say it. Now that the time was nearly at hand, though, he wished he didn't have to say such things at all. There was no telling how uncomfortable Harry would find the conversation. 

There was no more putting it off, though; Severus was clear on that much. He'd waited this long only because opening the topic while Harry was still ill had seemed imprudent. But now, there only remained today and the next day until the invocation. 

The invocation... when Harry had to give himself without reservation to Severus. 

Really, they should have dealt with this particular topic long since, but Severus hadn't known there was anything _to_ deal with. After the things he'd heard Vernon Dursley spew, though... Severus sighed. He'd known for some time that Harry had grown up in an intolerant home. He should have guessed that his family's prejudices went far beyond merely hating wizardry. 

His own background though, had ill-prepared him to understand Harry's. Severus' father had been a narrow-minded Muggle, but the time Severus had spent with him had been severely limited. Almost all of his childhood had been spent in a pureblood household, where it would simply never occur to anyone to make judgements about a person based on sexual preference, of all things. Severus had heard Dursley with his own ears, and still found the things the man had said incomprehensible. 

Harry, however, had understood those brutal comments all too well. It all added up now, things that Severus had thought only mildly peculiar at the time they'd happened. After what he'd discovered about Harry's family, however, they formed a much broader picture in his mind. 

It was a picture that had to be dealt with, because if Harry went into the invocation feeling as sense of _shame_ over what he and Severus had done in bed, and what they would do in future... well, it was difficult to imagine they could invoke at all. Harry had to be more than willing; he had to _want_ to belong to Severus. 

In a sexual sense, particularly. 

So of course the discussion couldn't be put off any longer, difficult as it might prove. 

"My upstairs rooms," Severus said as he flung the Floo powder down. 

When Severus emerged into the parlour he'd reserved for Harry's use, he was a bit surprised to see the young man sitting at the table, food already waiting. A quick glance at his watch confirmed that it was now fully ten minutes past the time he'd agreed to be here. Odd. He hadn't thought he'd spent that much time standing in front of the Floo, thinking matters over. 

"Brewing ran over," he excused himself, setting down the bottles he'd brought with him. Harry glanced at them curiously, but his mind was on something else. 

"What if you just Floo in here like that and I have company?" he asked. "That'd be pretty hard to explain, I think. And it's not like I can ward it against you. I have a feeling the spell would take a pretty dim view of that." 

"No doubt," said Severus, making himself at home. "There's a spell built in that lets me know if you're alone." 

Harry frowned. "Can you hear through the Floo as well as the doorway?" 

"No. I've no wish to spy on you." 

"I wish you wouldn't spy at all." 

"I've also no wish to argue that point yet again." 

Harry frowned again, the expression angrier than before, and seemed about to say something, but whatever it was, he held it in. "Maybe we should just eat. I don't know about you, but I'm starving." 

Severus nodded brusquely. He wanted to ask what Harry had almost said, but decided it might lead to more rancour. And that wasn't what they needed, particularly not with what he'd planned to say to Harry. But that discussion could wait until after their luncheon. He was going to need Harry's full attention. 

Severus was halfway through his salad before Harry said anything else. "What's the staff password on the library? I wanted to check out some Defence books." 

"The staff password won't work for you until the governing board approves your position." 

Harry sighed, the sound of it a little bit glum. 

"However, I could ask Albus to allow you guest entry." 

"You can't do that yourself?" 

"I can, but I fear it wouldn't be prudent." 

"Oh. Right, you wouldn't want to be seen doing me any favours. There'd be a record somewhere?" 

"Precisely." Severus waited, but it seemed Harry had nothing further to say on that topic. His salad finished, Severus helped himself to a sliver of Gouda and another of Muenster. Really, it was quite a nice lunch Harry had selected. It took Severus a moment to realise that there really wasn't any reason not to mention as much. "You have a better sense of fine cuisine than I thought." 

"Well, since you thought I was raised by baboons..." Harry shrugged. 

Not exactly the reaction Severus had desired, but the rejoinder could prove useful all the same. "You were raised by worse than baboons," he said in a level voice. "I think we need to talk about the matter." 

Another careless shrug. "I don't want to talk about the Dursleys." 

"The matter at hand isn't so much them, but what they've done to you." 

Harry visibly stiffened. "I said I don't want to talk about it. Ever, all right? I survived it and it's over and there's nothing to say." 

"You're talking of physical abuse? I gather it was endemic in that household." 

"Can you talk normal English?" 

"Perhaps I should start another way," murmured Severus, his brow furrowed. He'd put a lot of thought into this conversation, and now that Harry's _baboon_ comment wasn't helping them move them along, Severus reverted to plan. "Harry, answer me something. Do you prefer ale or mead?" 

The young man stared. "Mead. I told you that." 

" _Accio_ bottles," said Severus, waving his wand toward the small table by the Floo. He deftly caught the two that flew at him, then conjured a matched pair of small glasses and proceeded to pour two measures of liquor. One was pale amber and honey scented; the other was brown and foamy. 

"It's a little early to start drinking, don't you think?" 

"You can drink or not as you wish. But first I'd like you to consider a few things. Why do you prefer mead over ale, Harry?" 

"I..." Harry narrowed his eyes. "What's this all about?" 

Severus wasn't ready to answer that directly. "Indulge me. It's not a hard question, is it? Why do you prefer mead?" 

Harry picked up the glass of mead and took a small sip. "Well, it's sweet. I think you know I like my drinks kind of sugary. Ale's sort of bitter." 

"But there are people who prefer ale," Severus pointed out. "Are they wrong to do so?" 

Harry rolled his eyes and set his glass down with a thud. "Why are you asking me that?" 

Severus smiled thinly. "Answer, Harry." 

"No, of course it's bloody well not wrong to prefer ale! There are people who like bitter flavours, you know! Christ, Severus, what are you going on about?" 

"Preferences." When Harry scoffed at that, Severus paused to think. Normally when a student was slow to follow his train of thought, Severus would merely tell him to read the text again, this time more carefully. It saved a good deal of trouble; nine times out of ten the student didn't really _want_ to learn the material, anyway. 

Harry was his lover, though, not his student. And even if there were a book that addressed these issues, he doubted Harry would read it. Yet it was imperative that Harry understand this matter, which left it to Severus to explain. It was surprisingly hard to figure out how to proceed. 

"I happen to prefer mead as well," he slowly said, "though I don't generally find other sweet drinks pleasing. I like dry wines, but don't care much for ale. Do you think that odd?" 

"No... what people like can be kind of complicated." Harry eyed the untouched glass. "What's that one for, if you can't stand ale either?" 

"Illustrative purposes." Severus moved Harry's glass back next to the other one, wondering if it was time yet to be more direct. No... perhaps not quite yet. "Are there people who like both mead and ale equally well, do you suppose?" 

Harry gave a heavy sigh. "Listen, I don't know where you're going, but this conversation is just stupid." 

"Yes, because you know these things already," agreed Severus, nodding. Deciding it _was_ time, he leaned forward and spoke very clearly. "About ale and mead, at least. You understand those kinds of preferences." 

As he'd expected, Harry wasn't about to let that pass him by. "Oh, this is another one of _those_ conversations. Like the one about black eyes and green. What's your point this time? I mean, what are you illustrating?" 

"Sexual preferences." Severus tapped each glass in turn, feeling a bit like he was at the demonstrations table in the Potions classroom. Not liking the sensation that he was about to lecture Harry as though he were indeed still a student, Severus limited his explanation to two words: "Male, female." 

Harry stared, then shook his head in what looked like disbelief. "You think I need _this?_ Some people like men, some like women, some like both?" 

"Oh, you know that much well enough." Severus let that sink in as he planned his next words. "But let's go back to the drinks for a moment. You'd agree, I think, that it doesn't matter what one's preferences might be? It's simply of a matter of taste, and really, nothing for anyone else to be concerned about?" 

A scornful noise was the only answer he got to that, at first. Severus merely waited. After a moment, Harry sighed. "Yes, of course I'd agree with that about the drinks." 

"About the drinks." 

Another noise, this one harsher, and somehow more desperate. "Yeah, well I know perfectly well that people have plenty of _concern_ about the other, Severus!" 

"Ah." The crux of the matter. "But that's precisely what I wanted to discuss, Harry. _They don't._ Not in the wizarding world. It makes literally not one shred of difference to anyone whether you prefer your own gender, or the opposite, or both." 

"Sure it doesn't," said Harry, shaking his head. "Listen, when I told Arthur Weasley about _Cambiare Podentes,_ he was pretty well horrified, and not just because of the slavery end of it. We talked about how I didn't find blokes attractive!" 

"Harry, he doesn't mind if you like men or not. He was merely worried that you were being forced into a situation you would find untenable. He was upset that your stated preferences didn't match what the spell was going to require of you." 

Harry's eyes darkened as he sucked in an audible breath. "You _talked_ to him about it?" 

"No. I merely know Arthur. Harry... wizards do have their share of prejudices, as I think you know. But this isn't one of them." 

Those green eyes glanced up, resentful. "The hell it isn't. Maybe Mr Weasley's... _enlightened_ or something, I don't know. But Ron sure as hell isn't. Even Hermione, who comes from this really liberal family when it comes to sex and stuff, said I'd damn well better make sure that Ron doesn't find out I have to sleep with you!" 

_Have to..._ that was a bit depressing to hear. "Because it's _me_ , Harry, not because I'm a man. _That_ was quite likely the source of Miss Granger's concern. She probably thought it was the source of yours, as well, if she comes from as liberal a background as you say. You see... unless she had heard your relatives' vicious invective for herself... well, let me simply say that it didn't occur to me that you had grown up among people who would have taught you that our relationship can never be anything but wrong. I'd have spoken to you this way sooner, had I realised. Your uncle's comments opened my eyes as to what you must have grown up hearing." 

The look in Harry's eyes grew pained, then. "It's a bit hazy, but I do remember what he said that night. And yeah, I've heard it all before. But I don't care, honest." 

Severus made sure his voice emerged very softly. "If that's true, then why does remembering hurt you?" 

"Because... I don't know!" Harry laced his fingers together so tightly that the skin covering them paled. "They hate anything that's not what they call _normal_ , all right? It's just their thing. I learned a long time ago how wrong they were about all of it. Really, I did." 

"You know they're wrong, yes," Severus acknowledged. "But that's an intellectual determination. Emotionally, there's a part of you that hasn't overcome the prejudices they passed on to you." 

It wasn't despair in those eyes now, but raw fury. "Prejudices they passed _on_ to me! Oh, I like that! I don't have any, is that goddamned good and clear? It's not like I don't _know_ the Dursleys are total shites, Severus! They hate magic too, or have you forgotten that? I'd have to be pretty stupid myself not to know what idiots they are!" 

Severus leaned forward a little more. "Harry, whether you can admit it or not, they have influenced you. It's not a simple thing to shake off the ideas we absorb in childhood." 

"I'm not like them!" 

"You aren't. That's not what I mean at all." Severus paused, trying to think how to explain. Somehow, all his carefully rehearsed speeches weren't working quite the way he had expected. He wished he knew what to say to break through to Harry, but all he could think of was to fall back on making his point by example, again. It was just a pity he hadn't realised sooner what Harry had been revealing, all along, through the things he'd said. They should have had this conversation some time ago. 

"Harry.... do you remember how you felt after our first frottage?" 

Harry blushed. Interesting that he still could. "Embarrassed." 

"Yes, but that wasn't all. You said several things about not knowing what men did afterwards. Instead of simply relaxing and enjoying the fact that you'd had a new experience, you were overwhelmingly concerned about normality." 

"Well, how should I know what to do afterwards--" 

"Why should you worry about _doing_ anything except what you wished?" 

Yet more colour stole into Harry's face. "I don't know what it was like for you when you first started having sex, all right, but I felt a little out of my depth. There's nothing wrong with that!" 

"I'm not suggesting that you were wrong, Harry. I merely want you to see that your own attitudes are a reaction to the kinds of things you heard growing up. Your relatives taught you that to be anything other than _normal_ is practically a capital offence. And it seems they also taught you, by implication if not directly, that for one man to sexually desire another is abnormal." 

Harry's high colour faded then, to leave him looking so stark he actually appeared ill. His voice shook when he spoke. "I... uh, yeah. Maybe you have a point there. About what they taught, I mean, not about what I think. Because, well... look. When I first came down to you to discuss _Podentes,_ you know how I said I wasn't attracted to men? Um... it's been pretty hard for me to admit but um..." His eyes took on a faraway look. "Well, I looked at some books while I was in London. Sex books, I mean. So I wouldn't feel so stupid in bed. Kind of like you said, I guess. I wanted to know what men normally... but anyway, there were a lot of, er, photos in the books and I could tell, looking at them that..." 

Harry's voice drifted off. 

"You found yourself aroused by the images," Severus finished. 

Harry gave a stiff nod. 

By then, the young man's fingers looked like they were about to snap from the tension of being laced so tightly. Severus moved his chair to the side of the table so he could reach Harry's hands, then pulled them apart to massage Harry's taut fingers. "So you've realised you're not as _un_ attracted to men as you once supposed," he said in a light voice. "That's fine. No-one in the wizarding world would think ill of you for it, certainly. Except one person, I suspect." 

"Oh God, Dumbledore," Harry said in a dull tone. "No wonder he's been avoiding me so much--" 

Severus stared. Of all the utterly illogical conclusions to jump to! It was proof that Harry hadn't really understood what Severus had been trying to say. Albus was a pureblood and Harry knew it, so of course it wasn't _Albus_ who would judge Harry harshly for liking men. It was on the tip of his tongue to say _You imbecile_ , the way he would in class when he had to listen to a particularly inane comment. 

But Harry wasn't his student, he reminded himself again. 

"Not Dumbledore!" he bit out, the words sounding harsher than he had intended. " _You!_ " 

"Me? I can't help it, who I'm attracted to." 

"Then why was it hard for you to admit it could include men?" Severus let that sink in. "Harry, I think you wanted to be attracted only to young ladies. And then you weren't. And in your own mind, that somehow made you less than normal. But excepting other Muggleborns who may come from such repressive backgrounds as yourself, no one else will view the matter in that light. Albus most certainly won't." 

Harry's hands relaxed a little. "Oh." 

"Now, answer me something honestly. Arthur will help us hide _Podentes_ from the public eye as long as possible, but someday, your status will almost certainly become known. When you have thought about that, what worried you most? The fact that the wizarding world will know you are a slave, or that they will know you're sleeping with a man?" 

"I... the sex thing," Harry admitted in a low voice, his gaze focussed on the ale and mead on the table. He pulled his hands free and laced them together again, but not as tightly. "Well, the slave thing too, but mostly because it's a _sex-_ slave thing. And... I guess you're right. I did think at one point it would be a lot less embarrassing to be enslaved to a woman than have everyone know...yeah." He cleared his throat. "You're sure people won't think I'm... um, the things my uncle said? I don't mean prostitute. The other things." 

"They won't think you are filthy for being with a man, no," answered Severus. "Really, Harry, people might raise an eyebrow that you're with me in particular, but no one will care that you're with a man." 

"How can they not care?" Harry shook his head. "I... that doesn't make sense to me. I mean, I was pretty surprised that Hermione didn't. I just expect people to." 

Smiling, Severus reached forward and tapped his wand to the two glasses, transforming the mead into ale and vice-versa. "Perhaps that's why, Harry. How can gender preferences matter much at all, when wizards and witches can become one or the other at will? All it takes is Polyjuice. Which do you want to drink now, the ale or the mead?" 

Harry laughed weakly, the sound of it centred somewhere between relief and disbelief. "I... I still want mead. Not sure which one that really is." 

Severus summoned the glasses toward them and tapped his wand to the ale so they both had mead. They sipped for a while in silence, Harry's furrowed brow saying he was thinking over the things that had been said. 

"So if everybody knows about _Podentes_ later, they won't be... uh, disgusted with me for... you know?" 

"No. There's no reason for shame, Harry. None whatsoever. That's not to say you'll receive the acclaim you'll deserve--" 

"I don't want acclaim." 

Severus nodded, surprised to find that he believed that. After seeing what he had at the Dursleys, he understood now that Harry had a deep, entrenched desire to be perceived as nothing out of the ordinary. 

"You'll be owed acclaim, no mistake about that," he went on. "But because your crossed powers will be formidable indeed, it's more likely you'll be feared than celebrated. At least, after the official euphoria has worn thin." 

Harry drank his mead until the glass was empty. "Yeah, I understand that. Kind of like the gunslinger thing in the Wild West." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Oh, sorry, Muggle thing. I saw it on the telly, once. _Twilight Zone_. It just means, you can't kill a Dark Lord without people wondering if you're going to turn into one, yourself. You know, Severus, having _you_ in charge of what I can and can't do... maybe that's a reason for you to announce right here and now that you're Dumbledore's man. So later, they might actually believe you'll keep me in line, instead of letting me run wild like V... like _the Dark Lord_ does." 

"Unlike you, I do not care what people think." 

Harry sighed. "Can I have some more mead?" 

Severus laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You can do as you wish." 

Harry grimaced. "Sort of easier to have you tell me _no_ than decide for myself that I should stop here." 

"Adult responsibilities are not easy, no, but a slave is _not_ a child who needs constant guidance and endless rules. Whatever our private relationship, you remain a grown man." Severus returned his hands to his own lap. "And that's another attitude of yours we need to discuss, I fear. You are a man, Harry. And I'm attracted to you _as_ a man. I've no plans to feminise you." 

Harry's jaw dropped. "Uh... what?" 

"I was slow to put the pieces in place, but it's clear to me now that your relatives' prejudices have led you to believe that a man in your position somehow becomes... well, almost a woman. Which, in their view, would be shameful. In my view, it wouldn't be, but that's beside the point. I don't see you as a woman with male anatomy. You're a man through and through." Severus' voice dropped to a lower tone. "And I like you that way." 

Harry shifted away slightly. "Yeah, I did notice that. Um... well, I don't exactly think you're going to... look, I'm not comfortable discussing this." 

"We have to discuss it," returned Severus implacably, though he did try to make his voice matter-of-fact rather than dictatorial. From the look on Harry's face, he wasn't certain he had succeeded. "Harry, listen. You have to give yourself to me without reservations. And you thinking you'll be feminised by our association... that would certainly qualify. I know you couldn't abide it, in fact. You're very masculine by nature." 

Harry's lips turned down as his eyes began to glow, looking fierce and focused. "Yeah, well, I can _abide_ whatever I have to. Trust me on that." 

"Fine," Severus answered shortly, a little perturbed by the way Harry was staring at him. It seemed almost that they were losing ground. But then again, Harry had said he didn't want to discuss this. Perhaps this sudden antagonism was his way of trying to choke the conversation off. Severus couldn't let that happen. This was too important. 

"Your uncle's horribly ugly words aside, Harry, being on the bottom when we make love does _not_ mean you are taking the female role in our relationship." 

"On the bottom. Nice way to put it," said Harry in a hostile tone. 

"It's merely a figure of speech. One can bottom from the uppermost position, in fact--" 

" _Yeah,_ I did see some pictures of all this recently. Remember?" 

Ah. _Very_ explicit pictures, then. Severus nodded. 

"And I don't think it's going to make me a woman, all right?" Harry shuddered. "No matter what... position." 

"Then why did you assume, when the topic of children came up, that if I wanted any, I would force _you_ into the role of being the childbearer? Why did you react with alarm when I suggested you grow your hair longer, and say that it would make you look like a girl?" 

"I..." Harry shrugged. "I don't know. I guess it sort of comes from the fact of the spell at all. I mean, it puts you in charge. Vernon's in charge back in Surrey. And not to be too obviously _prejudiced_ or anything, but men usually are. So where would that leave me?" He frowned. 

"It leaves you looking at our relationship the way a Muggle would, apparently." 

For some reason, the comment bothered Harry. "Hey, not all Muggles are so backward as the Dursleys, you know." The young man's eyes narrowed into slits. "I know you know, in fact. You're a half-blood. Bellatrix said so." 

Severus' instinctual reaction to that was to sneer that _Bellatrix_ was a fine one for Harry to trust. He realised in time, though, that evading the topic wouldn't do them much good in the long run. "Yes, I am." 

"Then why the _fuck_ did you ever pledge yourself to that racist shitehole?" 

Harry suddenly sounded furious. Severus could hardly blame him for that, but it didn't mean he was willing to be sidetracked. 

"That's another discussion," he said in a hard tone. "You need to understand that I didn't see my Muggle father often at all, so he didn't have much of a chance to inform my attitudes. After a very young age I grew up in an exclusively pure-blooded household and came to think of myself as one in all but name. I absorbed _their_ values, one of which is that two men or two women can form halves of a whole just as readily as a man and a woman. You never learned this, but you need to start believing it. Submitting yourself to me does not mean you are the feminine half of our liaison." 

"No, it just means I'm the weaker half," muttered Harry. 

"It means you have placed yourself in a subordinate position, which takes strength and courage to do," said Severus, raising his voice. "Moreover, Harry, you're an anomaly. Normally the supplicant _is_ the weaker party, magically." 

"What's that supposed to mean, that I'm stronger than you? Ha. Sure. Right." 

"At an innate level, you likely are. I have greater control and experience, which would tend to mask your greater inherent power." Severus stared into Harry's eyes. "So there you have it. _I_ am the weaker in quite a significant way. Does that feminise me in your eyes?" 

Harry shook his head. 

"Is it safe to assume you can't imagine me that way, even?" 

A long sigh. "Yes." 

"I feel the same way about you," said Severus, looking into Harry's eyes. "In fact, though I find your appearance extremely attractive indeed, I can't even apply the word _beautiful_ to you. It's not a word one uses toward a man." 

"I guess I should thank you for explaining all this," murmured Harry, glancing up before his gaze slid away. "I mean, I didn't really even know I was thinking... well..." Clearly uncomfortable, the young man raised his voice. "I really don't want to talk about it anymore. I get it now. Well, as much as I can. All right?" 

"Yes. Shall we have some dessert?" 

Harry looked about to answer that, but instead blurted, "Wait. Do you think the headmaster's just avoiding me so I'll catch on that he can't help me with this? Not that I thought he would, but I mean, so I'll figure out I have nobody to go to now but you?" 

"That's part of it," murmured Severus. 

"And the rest?" 

"Ah. Well, as you're Muggle-raised, I think he's uncomfortably aware what a terrible imposition this whole situation is. The lack of choice, I mean to say. You grew up more-or-less expecting to exercise choice about your long-term relationships. And that you now can't... I think Albus feels quite keenly how unjust it must all seem to you." 

"Well, it _is_ unjust," retorted Harry. "But just as much for you. Is he avoiding you, too?" 

"It doesn't seem unjust to me." Severus shrugged. "I didn't grow up expecting much of a choice. In pureblood families, arranged marriages are quite common. My grandfather was adamant from years back that I would have one as well." 

Harry's eyes widened. "Even though you turned out to be interested in blokes?" 

"There's nothing to prevent a marriage between wizards." 

"So why didn't you ever have one?" 

"My grandfather died. I've had little inclination of my own." _Or opportunity,_ Severus thought. 

Harry bit his lip for a minute, his expression saying he was mulling it all over. "But this same grandfather arranged his daughter's marriage to a Muggle?" 

"Ah. No. My mother defied our family traditions when she married Tobias Snape. She lived to regret it, I might add, and thought I should agree to an arranged marriage, probably because her own choice had turned out so poorly." 

"But not all purebloods do this arranged marriage thing, do they?" Harry tapped the table and asked for a glass of water, but when it came, he only sipped it. "I mean, Ron acts like he's expecting to handle things himself. And what about Bill dating Fleur Delacour? They're practically engaged, but Mrs. Weasley can't stand her at all, so I can't believe that's any sort of arrangement..." 

"Arranged marriages are quite common in wizarding society, but the practise is by no means universal." Snape rubbed a finger along the bridge of his nose as he considered what else to say. "It might interest you to know that Arthur and Molly's marriage was arranged by their respective parents. No doubt Molly expected to arrange her own children's future in turn, but considering Arthur's adoration for Muggle customs?" The Potions Master shrugged. 

Harry chewed his lip. "Hmm. You think that's why she hates to even hear Fleur mentioned? Because Bill's going his own way?" 

"I doubt it's as simple as that," murmured Severus, suddenly seeing the use to which he could put this turn in their discussion. "Molly's probably also quite worried about the situation. The Weasleys' own marriage is a good match, you see. Most of the arranged marriages I have seen are the same." 

Nodding, Harry drank more of his water. Severus couldn't tell if the young man had got the point or not, but he certainly wasn't going to draw any more of a parallel than he already had. In time Harry would come to see that their own relationship, though not of his choosing, could also work out well. "So, dessert? Perhaps just some fresh fruit?" 

"No thanks. You go ahead if you want." 

Severus shook his head. "We should discuss a few preparations for Wednesday. For example, do you still have the incantation memorised?" 

"Yes..." Harry met his eyes. "I'll practise it tomorrow to be sure it's perfect, though." 

"What about the rest of your belongings? Have you seen to them?" 

"No, but I will." Harry sighed, looking away then. "Is my Firebolt in the dungeons? I haven't spotted it up here, and I want to go flying tomorrow." 

"I've put it in a closet with my own broom. I'll show you." 

"All right." Harry cleared his throat. "Thanks for collecting it, by the way. Um... what time on Wednesday is the invocation?" 

"Seven in the evening." 

"I feel a bit like a man going to his own execution," murmured Harry. "Not that I know what that would really feel like. It's just... counting down the days like this, and, I don't know. I keep thinking I'm wasting what little time I have left." 

Severus regarded Harry gravely, wishing more than ever that he knew what to say. Alluding to the disastrous London holiday, he sensed, would be a terrible mistake. "It will be all right." 

"Easy for you to say." Harry stood up, then. "Forget I said that. Whinging never helped anything. I need to get out of my... um, _these_ rooms for a while, I think." 

That sounded like an excellent idea to Severus, who almost had a headache from the tense conversation. All in all, though, he thought it could have gone far worse. Rising to his feet, he suggested, "If you truly want some Defence books, we could go down to the library together." 

Harry tilted his head to one side. "You can use the staff password and I can just follow you in? All right. If you don't have anything else you need to do, I mean." 

"Just this." Stepping forward, Severus dipped his head and dropped a soft kiss on Harry's lips. "It really will be all right, Harry." 

The young man nodded, but then he looked away and sighed.


	46. Chapter 46

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Tuesday, June 16, 1998 ---- 8:12 a.m.**

Waking up in bed with someone was a new experience. 

Harry found it sort of embarrassing, especially since when he opened his eyes, it was to see Severus staring down at him. That was a bit startling; when they'd gone to bed the night before, Harry had been lying on his side with his head on Severus' shoulder. Now, he was flat on his back. Severus was the one on his side, his head propped on one elbow, his other hand roaming across Harry's chest. 

His fingers lingered on Harry's left nipple, tweaking it slightly. 

Wondering if the man was thinking of the mark he was going to put there, Harry cleared his throat slightly. 

Severus' hand stole back to his side almost guiltily. "I didn't mean to wake you." 

It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to ask, _Then why did you?_ He didn't want to fight, though. He sat up, realising only then that his pyjama top had somehow come unbuttoned. It wasn't too hard to figure out how. A wave of heat washed into his face and neck when he remembered the night before. 

Harry had been nervous going to sleep with Severus, especially since this time he hadn't made the decision on the spur of the moment. Without panic to push him, he found it a little intimidating to climb into Severus' bed. Not wanting to have any of his awful nightmares, though, was enough to get him between the sheets. It helped that after a couple of relatively mild good-night kisses, Severus hadn't objected to rolling onto his back so Harry could curl against him as he had the night before. 

But still, Harry had felt awkward about the whole thing. _Well, I guess it's good practise for the invocation, anyway,_ he had said in the darkness. 

Severus' answering tones had been so smooth they'd sent a shiver down Harry's spine. _Yes, I suppose so, though for the invocation we'll both be nude, of course._

Of course... but somehow, whenever Harry had thought about sleeping the night through in Severus' arms, he'd always been focussed on the fact that he'd be bound one way or another. That idea still alarmed him. It was too much like the graveyard, reminding him of how he'd been helpless to do anything about the horrible events happening right in front of his eyes. To be tied up like that again... feeling constricted already, Harry had begun shifting his legs to shed some of the heavy covers pinning him down. 

It hadn't done much good; Severus' arm had tightened around him. 

_Are you too warm?_ the Potions Master had asked. And then, with no small amount of humour, _You could always do without the pyjamas. It would be good practise for the invocation. Although then I'd need my impotence potion,_ he'd said in a musing, almost regretful tone. _We really shouldn't indulge yet._

_No, we shouldn't,_ Harry had answered in a shaking voice. Then, realising how much his unease might have given away, he'd gone on, _Uh, I mean..._

_Shhh, I know what you mean,_ Severus had whispered, his arm relaxing so that Harry could wriggle again. _I shouldn't tease you, not when you've already been abstaining for nearly a week..._

But what had the man done once morning had come, but unbutton Harry's pyjama top, after all? 

"I thought you weren't going to tease me," Harry said now, moving to sit up against the pillows. His fingers began doing up his buttons, but after a moment he gave it up. It wasn't like he was embarrassed to have Severus see his chest. 

"I really shouldn't," admitted Severus in a voice full of regret. Like he hadn't been able to help himself, almost. Harry discounted that impression pretty much immediately. _Nobody_ was more self-controlled than Severus Snape. 

In the next moment, though, Harry found out that self-control had nothing to do with reflexes. Severus climbed out of bed and stretched, the muscles of his flat stomach rippling slightly. That wasn't what caught Harry's attention most, though. The Potions Master's pyjama bottoms were tented out, the drawstring around his hips pulled taut by the erection stretching the fabric. 

"A shower, I think," said Severus with a small quirk of his lips when he caught Harry staring. "Unless you'd like to..." He suddenly shook his head. "No, we wouldn't want to leave you... _ah,_ frustrated. Best to just wait." 

Harry wasted no time once he heard the shower begin to flow. Jumping up out of bed, he quickly went through the connecting door and took his own shower. He hadn't thought of it before, but he used to wake up hard, too. He hadn't lately, though, not since... 

That made sense, though. Why would he want anything to do with sex, after what Bole and Talmadge had done? 

_Oh, no... the invocation._

Harry stopped breathing and just stood under the streaming water as fresh panic washed through him. _I have to come three times. And before that, before the witnesses leave, I have to be able to feel pleasure in Severus' touch. And not just any kind of pleasure... I have to be able to get hard._

That idea hadn't seemed daunting at all a week ago, but now... 

What if he couldn't feel pleasure any longer? What if his cock was as dead tomorrow as it felt right now? Dead and useless... then the rest of him would end up dead and useless, too, Harry thought with mounting alarm. He shut off the taps and towelled himself dry, then sat down naked on his bed and pumped his cock a few times, trying to get some sort of reaction from it. 

There was none, though. His cock remained limp and uninterested. 

Oh, _God,_ what was he going to do? 

Harry threw on some clothes and went back through the connecting door. "Severus?" 

"Hmm?" The Potions Master emerged from his bathroom, a black towel slung around his hips. He was drying his hair with another one. 

Harry stared, remembering then how much he liked Severus' hair. He wanted to touch it, if only to convince himself that nothing had changed, that he was still the person he'd been a week ago. That he could still manage to do everything the invocation was going to require. 

"What's the matter, Harry?" asked Severus, which made Harry wonder if his expression looked as scared and confused as he felt. 

"Um..." Harry looked down and saw his trainers toeing the stone floor. "I was sort of wondering if you'd... er, if we could kiss for a bit?" 

Severus chuckled, which Harry frankly could have done without. "You needn't ask permission, you know. You can initiate anything you'd like. Though at the moment I'd still be cautious about leaving yourself... _ah,_ hot and bothered." 

"Maybe it's better to get a little bit that way," Harry shot back, deciding he might as well brazen it out. "I mean, for the three times. Going into it sort of desperate isn't such a bad idea. You think?" 

Severus smiled, then, but it wasn't an indulgent like his soft laugh had been. More like predatory, though it wasn't exactly threatening. Or maybe more to the point, Harry wasn't exactly scared, though it did feel like he's swallowed a large sock or something. He didn't move. He didn't think he could move. 

Another chuckle then, this one a bit darker. "What did I just say about initiative?" 

_Oh, he wanted Harry to go ahead and..._ that made a lot of sense, actually. Harry was supposed to be in charge, right up to moment when they began to invoke. Not that Severus had stuck to that completely, but Harry supposed he'd been pretty good about it. 

At one level, Harry really didn't want to kiss Severus right now. It wasn't that he minded the kissing these days. But _now_ , he was pretty scared that he wouldn't get the result he wanted. A sexual result. Scared didn't even begin to cover it. He felt pretty much like he had the day before, when he'd needed so desperately to get out of his rooms, and he'd been terrified to go out the front door of his suite. 

The only way he'd found to get over his terror had been to just... well, go for it. 

So Harry did the same thing now. He drew in a big breath, then launched himself at Severus and kissed him for all he was worth. 

An open-mouthed kiss. A _sexual_ kiss, just as enthusiastic and passionate as Harry could make it. And after all the kissing he and Severus had done, Harry didn't have any doubt that he could arouse the other man. 

It was only his own arousal that was in doubt. 

He certainly couldn't fault Severus' response. The Potions Master pulled him close, and groaned low in his throat as though it had been too long since they'd kissed this way. Whatever he'd done in the shower--and Harry was pretty sure he knew what Severus had done--he could feel the other man's arousal growing again, nothing but a towel between them to hide it. 

Self-conscious about his own lack of an erection, Harry hurriedly swivelled his body to the side so Severus was pressing into his hip. The manoeuvre ended up dragging his jeans against the terry cloth slung about Severus' hips. 

The towel fell to the floor, and the damp heat of Severus' skin, still warm from his shower, soaked through Harry's clothes. 

Part of him could recognise the sensation as _hot_ , and not just in a physical sense. Or really, he could tell that it should be hot. And the same went for the kiss itself. It was deep and passionate and based on how he'd been a week ago, a kiss like this should definitely be arousing him. 

But it wasn't. He hadn't felt a thing down there, not even a twinge. And if he couldn't react to Severus... 

Harry redoubled his efforts to get hard. Ever since the Dragon's Happy, he'd known he liked Severus' hair, so he lifted hands from the man's shoulders and plunged his fingers in, all the way down to the scalp. It was wonderful and awful all at once. Severus' hair was just as nice as ever. Soft and silky, it flowed over his fingers like living water... Harry still liked touching it. He _loved_ touching it. 

But it wasn't a sexual thing for him, not now. 

His cock was still completely flaccid. 

" _Fuck,_ " muttered Harry, yanking himself out of Severus' embrace. And then more loudly, as his rage crested, " _God damn it!_ " 

He felt his face and neck heating up. His temples began pounding, he was so angry. What was he going to do? If he admitted the kiss was doing nothing for him, he'd have to explain about the Death Eaters and all the rest. And he couldn't. He just couldn't! 

But he had to say something. 

"Severus..." 

He was surprised how high and thin his voice emerged. Panicked, almost. And after the one word, he fell silent. It wasn't like he knew what to say! 

Severus didn't have the same problem, but of course he'd misconstrued everything. "Ah. We shouldn't have gone that far. But tomorrow, Harry..." He smiled then, his teeth glinting as he picked up his towel and replaced it around his hips. "Waiting is difficult, but yours is almost at an end." 

_Ha, I'm almost at an end, you mean, _ Harry thought. His skull felt like a troll was sitting on it. "Can I have a headache potion?" 

The other man's smile became more sympathetic. "That much frustration isn't good for you, no. Just one moment." 

As soon as Severus left the room, Harry started pacing. Inside his head, conflicting voices were competing for his attention. 

_Pomfrey was right, you need to talk to someone about what happened. A friend. Severus._

_You can't talk to Severus! If he finds out you can't even get hard now, he'll definitely decide that Cambiare Podentes isn't going to work! He'll think there's nothing left to do but save himself..._

"Here you are," said Severus, extending a flask of pale green liquid. "Harry?" 

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." Harry took the potion with shaking hands and drank it straight down. "God, that one's foul," he said, wiping at his mouth. Severus, he noticed, was fully dressed now. More than fully dressed. He was even wearing robes, just like he was trying to build a barrier between Harry and temptation. 

It would have been considerate if it wasn't so completely unnecessary. Harry made a gulping noise that started out as a harsh laugh but ended up just sounding strangled. 

Severus' dark eyes said he understood. But he didn't. Harry had a sudden urge to hit him, especially when he said in a banal voice as though nothing in the world was wrong. "So then, shall we have some breakfast?" 

Harry's headache was starting to taper off, but his anger was still roaring full force. "I need to get out of here." 

Severus raised an eyebrow. "You aren't hungry?" 

"I will be after some flying," retorted Harry. At least Severus wasn't still going on about how difficult it must be to be aroused and not be able to do anything about it. Harry would _kill_ to have that problem, instead of the one he did have. He grabbed his Firebolt from the closet Severus had pointed out the night before. "I'll be out on the pitch." 

Then another thought occurred to him. It was all he could do not to shout _fuck_ again. The pitch was one hell of a long way from the castle. It was one thing to walk the halls alone. The pitch... Harry didn't think he could stand to be out there all by himself. 

"Would you come along?" 

"Ah. That close to the Dark Forest it might be wise for us not to be seen together," murmured Severus. "It's not a problem inside the castle at present, as all the staff save Albus have left. But out of doors..." 

Harry gripped his Firebolt with both hands, desperation making him feel jittery. "Don't talk to me, then. Act kind of sneaky, like you're there to spy on me. I just don't want to be out there alone." 

Severus put a hand on his Firebolt and stilled it. Funny, Harry hadn't realised until then that it was shaking. That _he_ was shaking. 

"Harry... Bellatrix is dead," the Potions Master quietly reminded him, his voice deep, low, and sincere. "You killed her. You saved yourself. I'm the last person who would claim that Hogwarts is beyond the reach of the Dark Lord, but for all that... you need to have more confidence in yourself." 

"Ha. You think it's dumb luck and more talented friends that have kept me alive this long," Harry muttered. 

"I think you need to put what happened in London into perspective. It's over." 

_It's not over at all,_ Harry thought, more furious than ever. He wished he'd had a chance to kill more than Bellatrix. His fingers actually twitched, itching to choke the life out of those two horrible men. If they were here, Harry wouldn't have the slightest hesitation about strangling them until their necks snapped. 

"I really do have to get out of here," he grated, sure that two more minutes in the dungeons would have him spilling everything to Severus. Like that would do him any good! "You follow or not as you want. I can't bear this any longer." 

"Well, flying is certainly one way to work out frustration," said Severus in a voice thrumming with sexual undertones. 

Oh, great. He'd gone back to his crackpot theory that if Harry was just about to explode, it was with desire. Not that Harry had done much to convince him otherwise. How could he? It would open up a whole can of worms that was best left closed, sealed, and buried. 

"I'll come watch you, yes," added Severus. 

"So you _do_ think the pitch is a place where I shouldn't be alone! Well, that's just great. What am I supposed to do when I have to coach Quidditch? Ask the students to protect me?" 

Harry knew he was being slightly irrational, but Severus answered levelly enough. 

"We'll have the mind bond in place by that time. You won't ever be alone again, after that. Not truly." 

_God, I sure hope not_ , thought Harry. "Let's just go." 

The walk down to the pitch seemed to take forever. Normally Harry would just have flown the distance, but he didn't want to leave Severus behind. Not that they were talking or anything. As soon as they'd left the safety of the castle, the Potions Master had dropped back so that it would indeed appear to an outsider that he was observing Harry, instead of accompanying him. 

When they reached the pitch with its high goal posts, Harry fetched a practice Snitch from the shed. Really, what he wanted was a couple of Bludgers, but he didn't see any. Too bad. Harry never had played Beater, but whacking some Bludgers with a stout bat, over and over, sure sounded good now. He'd pretend they were Bole and Talmadge. He'd pretend he was knocking their damned heads off. 

Well, chasing the Snitch would just have to do. He knew from experience that it was a pretty good way to work off anger. Not that Harry expected to really work it out. He thought he probably had a bottomless supply of it. Rage was surging up inside him until his head ached despite the potion. Acid boiled in his stomach, and if Harry knew anything, it was that none of these feelings were ever, ever going to get any better. 

The feeling was too much to hold in. As he mounted his broom and soared high into the air, it started coming out on its own. His grip on the Firebolt became fiercer, his stunts and movements more violent. He flew tight loops between and around the goalposts, almost colliding with them, then turned his broom into a sharp dive that was very nearly vertical. He didn't want to crash and end it all, but he wanted to come as close to that as possible. 

The wind screamed in his ears as the ground came rushing up at him. 

Harry yanked his broom upwards with barely a foot to spare, and sped across the pitch, back and forth, pushing his broom faster and faster, flattening a trail of grass as he kept crossing the pitch. 

Hard flying though, could only vent so much of his anger. What he needed was to smash something. Pulling up slightly, he reached into his pocket and grabbed hold of the Snitch. 

He flung it straight up and watched it hover for a moment before it zoomed away. 

_Oh yeah?_ Harry thought, tugging his broom to follow. _You think you can get away from me? You think I'm just going to put up with whatever you want to dish out?_

That seemed to be exactly what the Snitch thought. With only one flyer to evade, it didn't behave the way it would during a Quidditch match. It mocked him, flying circles around him and fluttering just out of reach. Harry had seen practise Snitches behave this way before, but now, it only served to make him all the more angry. He might not have been able to fight off the men who had attacked him, but he'd be damned if he'd be defeated by a fucking Snitch. 

He dove after it, feeling like his blood was boiling, he was so angry. The Snitch didn't stand a chance, but that didn't matter to Harry. When he caught it, he grabbed it so hard that the wings cut into his palm. The pain wasn't much, but it sent his memory spinning back to the memory of Bole and Talmadge, and the pain he'd suffered then. 

Screaming in raw fury, Harry flew straight at one of the goalposts and flung the Snitch into it. The Snitch hit it at an angle, one wing snapping off to go spinning toward the ground. 

But Harry wasn't satisfied. He surged after the wounded Snitch and snatched it again, flinging it over and over into the hard metal of the goalpost. 

By the time he was done, the Snitch was nothing but a shattered, unrecognisable mass, and Harry himself was dripping with sweat. He didn't know how long had passed, but it came to him, as he looked down at the remnants of Snitch in his blood-stained palm, that he didn't feel any better now. Not one bit. 

Of course not. He wanted to smash a lot more than a Snitch. Actually, smashing things was the least of what he longed to do, now. Bole and Talmadge were going to pay, before Harry was through with them. After Harry crossed his powers with Severus, they were going to pay like nobody ever had. 

Not just _Cruciatus_ , either. Harry wanted to cleave them open and rip out their hearts and make the damned Death Eaters eat _them_ before they died. But before that, he wanted to evaporate the blood inside their veins, and stomp their fingers into pulpy little masses, and cut off their fucking cocks and _shred_ them. 

He flew a wide loop around the pitch without seeing the grass below or the sky above at all. All he could see was his own rage. Because it wasn't just Bole and Talmadge who were going to get what they deserved. Voldemort, too, _he_ was going to pay. For Harry's parents. And for Cedric. And Sirius. And for all the innocents who had died so far in this war, people who were just trying to live their lives, people who'd never even heard of Voldemort, some of them. And they'd _died_ , like Cedric had died, not even knowing, even at that last moment, that it was all going to end. 

Voldemort deserved worse than hell for all he'd done. Not that Harry believed in hell. But he did believe in fire and brimstone. _His own_ fire and brimstone. He'd split the sky itself apart, if that was what it took, and rain down destruction on Voldemort like nobody had ever seen before. Like _Voldemort_ had never seen before. He'd make Voldemort's nasty little gatherings look like a fucking joke before he was through. If Voldemort tried to get away, Harry'd drain the oceans dry to stop him. And then he'd drop all that water back onto Voldemort in a deluge that would plunge him to the bottom of the seas. 

And all his followers would get the same, every last one of them. Yeah, they were probably all laughing now, laughing as Bole and Talmadge spread their story about how they'd fucked Harry Potter up the arse and made him scream and bleed. They all probably thought it was funny, the sick twists. 

_Your turn to scream and bleed,_ Harry thought, imagining how they'd all look after he turned his wrath on them. Like meat put through a grinder, maybe. Or all charred and broken, like a forest after a fire. 

He never used to think things like this... never used to fantasise, about _hurting_ people. But now, he couldn't seem to stop. His mind kept leaping from one image to another, every one of them enough to have sickened him, before. Not now, though. Nobody was going to hurt him, ever again. Not one fucking person. _Nobody._

They wouldn't dare, not once Harry crossed his powers. Nobody would have the guts to so much as _touch_ him... 

Except Severus, Harry realised with a thudding feeling. He stopped flying and just hovered, the broken Snitch in his palm feeling like a hollow victory, now. Flying skills, after all, weren't going to get him through the invocation, or keep him alive afterwards. _Or get him those crossed powers that he wanted so much he could almost taste._

Only sex would do that. 

_Maybe it'll all work out,_ Harry thought as he floated in midair. _Somehow. I still do have another day before I really have to be able to get hard. Maybe dumb luck will pull through for me one more time. Maybe I should have more faith in the prophecy, and just believe there's a way to invoke even though everything looks so grim. Severus said the spell reads intentions. Maybe if I really, really want to belong to Severus, the spell will take care of the rest._

_Maybe, maybe, maybe...._

Shaking off his depressing thoughts, Harry shoved the destroyed Snitch back in his jeans pocket and headed back towards ground level. He spotted Severus standing just outside the edge of the pitch. Funny, he'd completely forgotten that the other man was out here. 

Sick of being on a broom by then, Harry climbed off and began the long walk back up to the castle. Severus hung behind again, but that was all right. Harry didn't much feel like talking. He reached the entrance hall and kept right on going. 

Severus caught up with him before too much longer had passed, though he waited to speak until they were in a hallway free of portraits or statues. "I didn't realise Gryffindor practise techniques were quite so... violent." 

"Slytherins are the violent ones," retorted Harry as he set his broom on the floor. He heard a twig snap and could have kicked himself for not being more careful with the Firebolt. 

"Harry?" 

"Sorry, I don't mean you. Really, I don't. I'm just on edge." 

"Still?" 

That question was so... _stupid_ that all of a sudden, Harry wanted to shake the man. Severus had a reputation for brilliance, so he ought to damned well be able to put two and two together and get something less than twenty-six! Wasn't it obvious that something was wrong? Shouldn't he ask why the fuck Harry had turned into such a maniac out on the pitch? 

That was unfair though, and Harry knew it. Severus had already settled on an explanation of his own, one that accounted for everything, so why should he question a thing? Besides, the man knew Harry had killed someone, now. For the first time. 

Severus had probably expected him to be a bit _on edge,_ about that if not the other. 

"Yeah, still," Harry answered, shaking his head. He couldn't stand the conversation any longer. No matter that he hadn't really said anything that mattered. "Listen, I have to take care of some things. So I'll see you later." 

The Potions Master wasn't that easy to brush off. "After all that flying, you aren't hungry?" 

"Oh yeah, I am." Harry shrugged. "But I have to find Dobby to give him some sweaters, anyway, so I'll just get something direct from the kitchens." 

Severus held up a hand when Harry would have walked off. "One thing. I don't recommend you demonstrate those kinds of stunts in front of the students. They're far too likely to imitate you." 

"You really do believe I'm an idiot, I guess," said Harry, staring back. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he couldn't seem to help it. "What did you think I was doing out there, planning my first day's lesson?" 

"Merely an observation." Snape made as though to walk off, then, but before he'd gone three steps he was turning back. "I know what you were doing out there. You were trying to kill Bellatrix Lestrange all over again. But she's dead, Harry. The sooner you can accept that you killed her and we're all better off for it, the sooner you'll stop feeling like you're still her victim." 

That made sense, but it didn't help. 

It wasn't Bellatrix he'd been trying to kill on the pitch. 

Harry picked up his broom again and headed upstairs to go find those sweaters. 

  
  
  
  


**Tuesday, June 16, 1998 ---- 4:12 p.m.**

Dobby had been delighted with the sweaters. Of course. He'd love anything Harry gave him, and when the gift consisted of clothes... all the better. 

"Oh, thank you, Harry Potter, thank you!" Dobby had beamed a wide, toothy smile. "Dobby will wear them every day! All of them!" 

"If you do, you'll be a sphere," Harry had said, his voice a little dry. It was true, though. All his Weasley sweaters at once would swallow Dobby whole. 

_I wonder if Mrs. Weasley sort of wanted to arrange for me to marry Ginny when we were old enough,_ Harry had suddenly thought. _I wonder if Ron knew that was more-or-less what his mother had in mind._

The whole thing made him feel bad. Even if this latest prophecy hadn't turned his life in another direction, he didn't think he'd have wanted to spend his life with Ginny. But if the _Weasleys_ had been thinking along those lines, it made it kind of awful that Harry had asked Ginny's father to witness the invocation and see Harry bind himself irrevocably to someone else. 

_But at least he won't mind that it's going to be to a man,_ Harry told himself firmly. Until Severus had talked with him, Harry hadn't really even been aware that he'd been ashamed of what Arthur Weasley must think. But what he'd expected... it _wasn't_ what Mr Weasley would think. Arthur Weasley wasn't his uncle. Harry should have understood that a lot sooner. 

"Enjoy the sweaters, Dobby," Harry had said, patting the elf on the shoulder before making his way back out of the kitchens. 

Now, back in the rooms assigned to him, Harry stared at his open trunk. He'd already sorted through the contents and removed all his magical possessions. They were behind him, forming a neat row on the bed. Soon, they would be all he'd have to call his own. And after tomorrow night, he'd have nothing. Severus would have it all. 

But it wouldn't be too bad, he told himself, crossing his arms. Severus clearly intended to let him keep using his Firebolt. Probably he could just think of Hedwig as Severus' owl, and keep right on using her, as well. Not that he'd have much post to send at first. Maybe after term started, and it was known he was working at Hogwarts... yeah, he'd be able to owl his friends then, as long as he was careful what he wrote. 

He reminded himself that he'd have to remember to go to the Owlery tomorrow to get Hedwig so he could give her away. And as far as tomorrow went... he could wait until then, he supposed, to destroy all his other things. They weren't invoking until evening. There would be plenty of time to take care of everything. 

But now that he'd sorted all his things into the depressing categories of _get rid of_ and _give to Severus_ , it was probably best to just get this over with. 

Sighing, Harry sat down in front of the fireplace, cross-legged, and lit it with a quick _Incendio._ Then it was a simple matter of levitating his things over, one item at a time. He could have done it faster, could have burned things in batches, but this felt right, somehow. Like a ceremony of its own. A conscious farewell to the life he'd lived before. 

He tried to make it a farewell without regrets. He had to want to belong to Severus, after all. He had to welcome it. And really, these things he was destroying didn't mean much against what he was going to get from _Cambiare Podentes._ His eyes blazed as he thought about the things he'd imagined while out on the pitch. 

He was going to have more than anyone had ever _imagined_ , before. Nobody would ever fuck with him again, because if they _did..._ Harry felt his fingers curling into claws, his grip on his wand growing so tight it was a wonder he didn't snap the wooden handle. 

Slashing his wand through the air, so sharply he could feel the motion all the way to his shoulder, he started summoning things faster. The fire blazed higher and hotter as he fed it. Harry stared at the leaping flames, feeling like the fire was inside him, instead of in front of him. 

All too soon, there was nothing left to burn except the trunk itself. 

It was too large to fit in the bedroom's fireplace, but that wasn't the real reason Harry turned his wand on it shattered the wood into jagged fragments. He _wanted_ to destroy it. It stood between him and invoking, just like the other things he'd burned. Slashing his wand through the air again, Harry sent the pieces of his broken trunk hurtling through the air to crash into the roaring flames. Anyone who hurt him... anyone who even tried, would get a lightning bolt straight between the eyes, he promised himself. The horrid Riddle estate, cemetery and all, would be wiped clean off the face of the earth, nothing but charred earth remaining. And Harry would be the one laughing, as the screams of dying Death Eaters rose up from the blackened ground. 

He'd be able to do all that and more. 

And nobody would be able stop him, not one single soul, except Severus. 

And Severus, Harry thought with a deep sense of satisfaction, understood about vengeance. 

The flames began to quiet down as the last of the wood was consumed. Nothing remained of his trunk now except the metal from the hinges. Liquid, it pooled in the grate, looking like silvery rain. Or tears. 

It reminded Harry of what he had to get through in order to come out on the other side with those crossed powers that he wanted so badly. It wasn't just dealing with property. 

But the sex... shite, it seemed like a lifetime ago that he'd been aroused and hot and _coming_ with Severus. Now when he thought about sex, something cold and hard clamped itself around his lungs. He couldn't imagine it ever being good again. He couldn't even imagine it being tolerable. 

Harry extinguished the fire with a curt command and a flick of his wand, and sat staring into the ashes. He still didn't know how he was going to get hard during the invocation, let alone come three times. And he sure didn't know how he'd manage, in the weeks and months and years that followed. Severus was going to want sex, was going to expect it even, and Harry was going to _need_ it because otherwise, their powers would never cross. 

He did know one thing, though. He might be dreading the thought of ever having anyone touch him again, but at least he would be the one doing the choosing, this time. Nobody was ever going to force him again. 

Except himself.


	47. Chapter 47

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Wednesday, June 17, 1998 ---- 8:35 a.m.**

Severus couldn't seem to stop himself from watching Harry sleep, though this morning he managed to restrain himself from doing more than looking. It wasn't lost on him that the day before, that steamy kiss had made the young man rather tense. No matter that Harry had suggested, or rather, insisted on it. Too much frustration had resulted. 

Ah, but by tonight... Severus almost licked his lips in anticipation as he thought about the ritual bath. Oh yes, the wizards who'd constructed _Podentes_ had known what they were about. Magic required balance, as he'd once told Harry. Great power in exchange for a great sacrifice. But the invocation itself was wrapped around another kind of balance. Pleasure in exchange for submission. 

And as the submission must be total... so too, must the pleasure. 

Severus would see to it. 

And then he'd hold Harry all night, as the rite demanded, and wake up with the young man fully _his..._ as nobody ever had been, before. 

"Morning," mumbled a drowsy voice. 

Severus realised then that he'd got so far lost in thoughts that he hadn't noticed Harry waking up. The Potions Master frowned, thinking that was most unlike him. He was usually a good deal more observant, especially of people who were situated not two feet from him. 

_Perhaps I'm just getting used to having Harry here,_ he told himself. _This is the third night running he's slept in my bed._

"No nightmares, I trust," he said in a casual voice. All in all, he thought Harry was dealing remarkably well with what had happened in London, though his behaviour on the Quidditch pitch showed he hadn't put the incident behind him, not fully. 

"I don't have nightmares when I'm with you." Harry sat up and stretched. "That's a good sign, eh? I think it must mean... well, you know. I trust you a lot. Huh. Strange to think of it, really." 

Severus swung his legs out of bed and got up. He knew exactly what Harry meant. To think, just a few short weeks ago he'd regarded the young man with nothing but disdain. The whole situation was surreal. 

But welcome, really. 

Severus leaned down and dropped a kiss on Harry's lips, but he was careful not to deepen it into anything resembling passion. There would be time enough for that tonight. 

  
  
  
  


**Wednesday, June 17, 1998 ---- 12:11 p.m.**

"Ah, you're here," said Severus. 

For some reason, the simple comment made Harry feel a bit belligerent. He'd spent the whole morning trying to not to worry, but the harder he'd tried, the more upset he'd felt. Not even Hedwig had been able to cheer him up. 

Of course, considering that Harry had gone to fetch her so that he could give her away, maybe that wasn't so surprising. 

_I have to calm down,_ he told himself, but it didn't do much good. His answer still sounded rude, even to himself. "Yeah, well I said I'd come back for lunch, didn't I?" The minute he heard that coming out, Harry tried for a more civil tone. "Anyway, I'm hungry. Let's eat." 

Severus wordlessly led the way to the small table in his library, but when Harry moved to tap it with his wand, the Potions Master reached out and stilled his hand. "There's something we need to discuss, first." 

Harry didn't see why they couldn't discuss it over food, but since he wasn't really all that hungry, he just pulled his hand back and waited. 

Severus pressed his lips together as if considering his words. "You remember, I think, that the information we have about _Cambiare Podentes_ is quite fragmentary?" 

"Yeah, Rome burned and then later the eastern wizards tried to reconstruct the spell from sources that were a lot earlier. Or something like that. So?" 

"You seem tense." 

Harry was pretty sure that there were times when that observation would have annoyed him, but right now it made him laugh. He couldn't have said why. "Yes, Severus," he answered in as droll a tone as he could manage. "I might just be tense. That's not what you wanted to discuss, was it?" 

Severus leaned back in his chair. "No. I don't wish to make you more anxious than you must already be, but there are some things you should be aware of." 

Like it wouldn't make him tense to hear a thing like that. "Such as?" 

"The invocation is quite a bit more complex than the précis might have led you to believe." 

Oh, was that all? Harry shrugged. "Well, you said back then that you'd only given me an overview. So what else do I need to know?" 

"I've written it out. I'd recommend you spend the afternoon familiarising yourself with the details of the rite. Though, keep in mind that because it's all a reconstruction, some of it is guesswork. Educated guesswork, rather." 

"Yeah, I understand. Summon it for me?" 

"There is something else." The Potions Master coughed slightly. "I've been researching the interstices of interaxial magic and although this is more properly conjecture, I thought I'd best acquaint you with it." 

Harry stared. "Come again?" 

"Perhaps I should approach this another way," murmured Severus. " _Cambiare Podentes_ was created with a weak wizard in mind, as you know." 

Harry wasn't so sure of that, but he nodded. "Uh-huh....?" 

"I think..." Severus cleared his throat again. "Interaxial magic is uncommonly perceptive, which is of course why this spell can read intentions. It may also proceed to read your powers as stronger than mine. Which would be unusual for a supplicant, to say the least. And if that happens, the invocation spell may... _ah,_ take measures to balance matters out." 

"How?" 

Severus had been avoiding his gaze for the last few moments, but now he met it without flinching. "You may end up behaving toward me in ways that are... markedly submissive." 

"Oh." Harry felt himself flushing. "Um, do you mean to cross powers? Or, um, for... forever?" 

"Unlikely, since once the invocation is complete, my wishes should hold sway over our relationship. But while the spell is labouring to bind your life to mine?" Severus shrugged slightly. "I thought it prudent to forewarn you." 

Harry felt his stomach twisting. "Well, that's..." He drew in a deep breath. "Um, if that's the way it has to be, then... I'll just grit my teeth, you know?" 

"I suspect that as long as you sincerely do wish to become my slave, then magic will take care of the rest. You may well not... mind, whatever the invocation may require." 

Harry frowned. "That's almost worse, you know." 

Severus reached across the table again, his fingers curling as though to beckon Harry's. Harry stared, nonplussed, but after a moment, put his hands out and let Severus clasp them. The Potions Master didn't say anything; he simply gazed at Harry, his dark eyes saying that he understood, but that it couldn't be helped. 

And in that, he was right, of course. 

"I wish we knew for sure just what..." Harry shook his head a bit ruefully. "But we don't." 

Snape let go of Harry's hands to draw a tightly rolled scroll from the inside of his robes. "We don't, no. But you may certainly see all I have been able to discover." He handed the scroll across the table, then quietly ordered them both lunch as Harry began to read. 

  
  
  
  


**Wednesday, June 17, 1998 ---- 6:45 p.m.**

Harry finally rolled up the scroll he'd been looking over, on and off, for the past few hours. "Parts of this sound pretty embarrassing, but I don't suppose that's important, really. I'm more concerned about not remembering exactly what to say and do. Especially after I take a hallucinogenic potion..." 

"Apart from your incantation, all you really have to remember is to follow my lead." Severus had been pacing back and forth across the room, but now he halted in front of Harry. "There's no need for worry." 

Harry swallowed, his tongue feeling thick inside his mouth. This was it, then. His last day as a free man, and it was almost over already! And the worst part was, he couldn't really remember where the day had gone. The hours since lunch... he hadn't spent all that time here in the dungeons, had he? It seemed like he'd squandered his last day, but it was too late now to get it back. 

"I don't suppose you have a time-turner," he tried to joke. As humour went, it fell completely flat. Severus didn't so much as chuckle. 

Nervous, Harry glanced down at his watch only to see a bare patch on his arm. Of course. It hadn't been magical, so it had gone into the fire the day before. Irritated, he cast _Tempus_ instead. He'd probably just have to get used to it. He could see himself now, madly casting spells so he could tell if it was time to get to a class... The students were going to think he was barmy. Ginny might even ask what had happened to his watch. 

"Harry, look at me," said Severus. "Everything will work out, just so long as you truly do wish the spell to take hold. Trust me." 

"I do..." 

"Wish to invoke, or trust me?" 

"Both," said Harry in a low voice. "But my stomach feels like a mass of jelly. I... I'm..." _Scared,_ he thought, but he didn't say it. There wasn't much point. Severus would have to be stupid not to know that Harry was scared. Needing something to do, Harry started brushing lint off the bedspread, though there wasn't any. 

Severus sat down next to him and took his hand, but he didn't say anything else. No point in that either, Harry figured. But it meant something to have the man just quietly wait with him. It reminded him that he wasn't alone. 

_I will bind myself to you,_ he remembered Severus saying. 

_It'll be all right,_ Harry told himself now. _It won't be like I used to think. Severus doesn't even really want a slave, so he won't treat me like one. The rooms upstairs, arranging a job for me right here at Hogwarts... He's going to make this bearable. He's not going to torment me just because he can._

"--time," he heard Severus say now. 

Harry looked up. "What?" 

"It's time," Severus said, tugging a little on Harry's hand. "You didn't hear the Floo? The witnesses have arrived." 

"Oh." His stomach felt like water now, all sloshy. Or maybe that was his legs. Oh God, he didn't think he could stand on them. Facing a dragon had been easier than this. At least then he'd been able to walk forward... 

But he had to walk forward now, too. If he didn't go out there and face what had to be done, every last bit of it, then he'd die on his birthday. And the whole world, or all the parts that mattered to him, would die with him. But not only that. 

_If Harry died, Bole and Talmadge would get away with what they'd done. They'd never get what they had coming._

Harry shot to his feet, his eyes narrowed. He could do this. He _would_ do this. Those bastards weren't going to win. He wasn't going to lay down and die just because they'd made him wish for death, for a while there. He was going to march into the other room and invoke, damn it! And God help anyone who got on his wrong side after that! 

Severus stood up and gazed down at him, his black eyes steady. "All right?" he asked, still in that quiet voice like he was trying to anchor Harry. 

"Yeah, fine." Harry flinched a little at how... _cold_ he sounded. He tried to get past that. Probably anger and fury and raw hatred weren't the very best emotions to be feeling just now, even if none of them was directed at Severus. "I am fine," he said again, in a more normal voice. "Let's just do this." 

Severus studied him for a moment more, then led the way out to his parlour. 

  
  
  
  


**Wednesday, June 17, 1998 ---- 7:01 p.m.**

"Good evening," said Severus, nodding at Albus and Arthur. They answered politely enough, but the real focus of their attention was Harry, who stepped into the room just behind him. 

"Hallo," the young man said, moving forward so he was alongside Severus. 

"How are you, Harry?" both witnesses asked at almost the same time. 

Harry glanced from one to the other, his expression about as serious as Severus had ever seen it. "Ready." 

"Really, Harry?" That was Arthur, his tone compassionate. Loving, even. Severus nearly scowled. What was the man trying to do, convince Harry to put the invocation off? At least Albus had the sense not to cast doubts into the air. 

Harry rose to the occasion, though. Admirably. 

"Yes, really," he said with a firm nod. "Ah... Severus. Where do I stand... er, I start off standing, don't I?" 

"Yes. Here will do," said Severus, taking Harry by the hand and guiding him over to the largest empty space in his parlour. Albus and Arthur were occupying it, but they took the hint and moved aside. 

Harry took his place, then took a deep breath as he looked at Severus, who was facing him. 

"One moment," interrupted Arthur. 

"What?" demanded Severus, whirling. This time he was scowling. 

Arthur ignored the expression to come towards Harry again. "Harry, you may be... you may belong to Severus after this is over, but I want you to know--" 

Harry crossed his arms in front of his chest. "There's no _may be_ to it, Mr Weasley. I will belong to Severus. And if you're going to say that, you know, I should feel free to come to you or something like that... well, thank you. I know you mean it in the best way. But... it's just not on. I have to depend on Severus." 

"Well said, well said, Harry," remarked Albus, his voice warm and encouraging though his old eyes were filled with sorrow. "Arthur, Harry knows quite well what's he's doing." 

"It serves no purpose to make things even more difficult," added Severus, glaring. "Now, if you don't mind?" 

Arthur gave Harry one last, long look and stepped back to stand by Albus. 

Three long strides took Severus to the Floo, where he tossed in a smattering of powder and called, "Binns. We're assembled." 

A moment later, the ghostly form of the tiny professor drifted through the brick in the upper part of the large fireplace. 

"Thank you for assisting us with this, Balthazar," said Albus solemnly. 

Binns crossed one arm over the other. "I still maintain this spell is thoroughly inappropriate. On the level of what Frieda the Fearless demanded of Welsh elves in 1247, though of course owing to the devastating plague the winter before, the population was decimated and scarcely able to comply, upon which she--" 

"That will do, Balthazar," interrupted Albus. "We know you understand the situation to be regrettable, but necessary." 

"Yes, well..." Binns seemed to be at a loss for words, Severus thought a little bit caustically. There truly was a first for everything. 

Waving his wand toward one of the covered brass goblets he'd set out earlier, Severus summoned Harry's potion. When it settled gently into his hand, Severus removed the lid and spoke quietly to Harry. "Binns will initiate the ritual. The moment he stops speaking, you must drink the entire measure of potion I've provided. Do you understand?" 

Harry's nostrils flared slightly. "Yeah, he finishes and I drink. It's not rocket science, Severus." 

"You said you were concerned about remembering what to do." 

"Oh, that. I meant all the little things later." Harry closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them his expression was startling. Intense. Determined. Severus was surprised to find himself impressed. 

Harry's lips twisted as if he knew what Severus was thinking. He took the goblet, his fingers brushing Severus' hands, and held it a short distance from his lips. "Let's just get started." 

Severus glanced toward Albus. 

"Balthazar, if you would?" 

Binns' transparent chest lifted and fell in a sigh. "Very well then." He floated away from the Floo, coming gradually nearer the floor until he was hovering just a foot from it. Standing in front of Harry, his back to him so that he could face Severus and the witnesses, he raised his arms high as his thin voice began the incantations that would allow them to invoke _Cambiare Podentes._

  
  
  
  


**Wednesday, June 17, 1998 ---- 7:07 p.m.**

Harry realised the goblet in his hand was shaking slightly. He made a conscious effort to hold it more steady. He could feel Severus watching him, but Harry's own attention was centred on Binns. 

Strange that he hadn't ever thought about the incantations the ghost would have to say. It made sense that they weren't in English or even Latin, of course; these rites were older than either of those languages. As far as Harry could tell, they weren't in Hindustani either. Or at least, he couldn't catch any words that matched the ones he was going to have to say. 

He wondered what Binns' own words meant, exactly. Not that it mattered. He didn't even know what his own incantation would translate out to, not exactly. But he didn't need to know, or else Severus would have told him in detail. 

_The spell reads intentions,_ he thought. That was what mattered. That his intentions were right. 

Gripping the goblet more tightly, Harry stopped listening so much to Binns, except to keep track of when he stopped speaking. _Severus,_ he thought, the name sounding almost feverish inside his own mind. _Severus. I want to belong to Severus. I want this to work. Severus--_

Binns had just gone silent, Harry realised. 

_I won't be helpless, ever again_ , Harry thought as he raised the goblet and tilted it towards his lips. _I'll have protection. I'll have powers. I want them. I want them more than I've ever wanted anything._

The potion was thick and smooth on his tongue. The texture of honey, but not sweet in the least. But then again, neither was it bitter. Or sour. Or salty. It actually tasted like nothing at all, Harry thought as he drank it down. And yet it wasn't remotely like water. It was just... _odd_ , so much so that Harry couldn't help but remember that morning he'd spent testing ingredients. He couldn't detect sow's placenta now, or Dragon's Happy, or any of the other disgusting things Severus had made him eat and drink that day. 

This was like drinking air itself, though air that was so dense and heavy that he could feel it filling his stomach. No, wait. It wasn't the potion he could feel, it was his stomach itself. Startled by that, Harry stopped drinking for a second. Then he remembered that he had to finish it, so he tilted the goblet higher and let the rest of the contents slide over his tongue and down his throat. 

That felt amazing, too. 

And the metal of the goblet was warm between his hands, and carved all around with symbols he recognised as runes, though when he brought it closer to look at them, he knew he couldn't possibly read them, and not just because he'd never taken that class. Each one was like a tiny work of art, he thought as he peered closer at them, bringing the goblet up before his eyes and rotating it to look at the runes, one after the other. No, not artworks. Each small carving was like the whole world etched into an area no bigger than... well, the fingernail he could see just alongside one. 

The goblet clattered to the floor as he yanked his fingernail up to his eyes and stared at the slightly jagged edge of it. He could see tiny blood vessels in the fleshy part of his nail... 

He felt his wrists firmly grasped and pulled away from his face, and then he looked up and saw eyes like blackest night staring down at him. He could get lost in those eyes. He _was_ lost in those eyes, falling into them, sinking down into dark waters that covered his head. Harry struggled a little, trying to swim back up towards the light, trying to _breathe._

And then, it was like a light went on inside him, bathing his innards with a glow that nourished him better than air ever could. He didn't need to fight, not now. He was safe here, utterly safe. He'd known that before, but now the knowledge was deeper, sinking through him right down to his toes. He was centred in it, able to think of nothing else for the moment. Only Severus, and how much he wanted this to happen. And not just because then he'd be safe. It was what he needed. He felt the conviction ripple through him, boiling up from somewhere near his gut. 

" _Yessss,_ " Harry said, the word slurring on his tongue. The sound of his own voice was intoxicating. He wanted to say something else just to hear more, but his ears were filled with another noise. A beautiful, deep, rich sound. A voice, speaking softly but with intensity. 

"The incantation, Harry," the voice was urging. "Say the incantation now." 

He wouldn't have thought he could understand what he was hearing. But he did understand. It was Severus speaking, his pure tones so beautiful Harry just wanted to listen. It wasn't time for that, though. It was his time to speak. 

He _wanted_ to speak, even if he didn't understand a single word that came sliding off his tongue. He wanted to belong to Severus, and the incantation was the way. 

Past and future fell away from him as if this moment was without end, all there had ever been, and all there would ever be. The only thing that mattered was _now,_ this very instant, and his burning urge to give himself to Severus. 

The world around him spiralled down and down, shrinking as it spun, until nothing remained except a single point in time. But that wasn't quite right either. It was more like there was no such thing as time. Like _now_ would never end, _could_ never end, because no other moment could possibly _be._

Nothing but himself, and Severus, and _now._

Harry looked up into Severus' dark eyes again and felt himself start to drown in them again. 

And then, his mouth opened all by itself and he heard Hindustani come pouring out from between his lips. 

  
  
  
  


**Wednesday, June 17, 1998 ---- 7:14 p.m.**

Harry's eyes were glazed, his pupils huge and ringed by only a thread of green. As before, the Dragon's Happy had him focussing on one small detail and then another, and another. A shiver passed through Severus' shoulders as he suddenly wondered if he'd brewed the potion correctly. It should be helping Harry centre himself in emotion. It should be pressing in on him from all directions, forcing his thoughts into straight channels instead of meandering rivers. The spell could read intentions, and the potion was designed to bring Harry's deepest one to the forefront of his mind, and focus all his thoughts on that single intention. 

"Yessss," Harry suddenly said, the word almost a hiss as his breathing went shallow. 

"The incantation, Harry," Severus said, since Harry seemed to not remember what came next. "Say the incantation now." 

Harry's eyes met his. Open, unguarded, his thoughts swimming in his eyes. 

The potion _was_ working as it should, then. Harry was a mass of sensory impressions this time, but he was something else, too. He was a supplicant, willing to invoke. _Truly_ willing, no part of him hesitant. Severus could see the truth of it in his eyes. 

The sight was awe-inspiring and humbling all at once, but Severus had no time to ponder it. Harry was speaking already, words pouring over his lips, his voice thrumming with sincerity. With true desire. Not sexual desire, no. It was something else. Conviction, so strong it almost bordered on mania. 

He listened to the recitation, his heart beating so hard he could feel it. The incantation had to be perfect, not a syllable out of place. _But it was, down to the last detail._ Harry's accent was even better than Severus had ever heard it, as if the potion was clarifying not just thoughts, but purifying his enunciation as well. 

When Harry finished the incantation, he swayed on his feet, but Severus' grip on his wrists helped him stay upright. Harry gasped, his eyes closing as his features convulsed in what looked like ecstasy. Again, it wasn't sexual. It was more as though the pressure of Severus' fingers on Harry's wrists was something Harry could feel acutely. Something he enjoyed feeling. 

" _Mmmmm,_ " Harry murmured, breathing heavily. "Severus..." 

There was so much sheer need in the way Harry said his name that Severus felt his cock spring to life. Just as well he was wearing heavy robes for the witnessed part of the ritual. Harry was as well, though those would have to come off in a short while... 

Definitely, that wasn't a thought conducive to taming his erection. 

Severus cleared his throat. Dragon's Happy or no, Harry had understood him before. And it was time to proceed. He let go of Harry's wrists and stepped back, out of arm's reach. 

Harry swayed again and made a small noise of distress, but he stayed on his feet without assistance. 

"The supplicant will yield his property," said Severus, speaking very clearly. Loudly, too. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Arthur wince. Albus looked torn between fascination at the magic underway and a deep sadness at what it meant for Harry. 

_Sentimental old man,_ Severus thought. _There's no other way. He knows that._

Harry was blinking, now, his head jerking from one side to the other as he looked around in what appeared to be confusion. Clearly, he was trying to do as he'd been told, but he didn't know how. 

"On the table, Harry," said Severus, just as clearly but not quite so loud since he obviously already had Harry's attention. "Remember? We laid it all out on the table, earlier." 

Harry's eyes went wide as he whirled around and saw the single brass goblet remaining on the table by the Floo. He took a step toward it and faltered, as though suddenly realising that wasn't what he wanted. Turning toward the side, then, his gaze fell upon the low table in front of the settee. Everything was there, both bloodline assets and magical property. Walking towards it, Harry gathered everything up in his hands and brought it all over to lay it at Severus' feet. 

"Kneel," Severus started to direct, but he didn't need to. Harry was falling to his knees on his own, though Severus didn't think the young man was really remembering the list of instructions they'd gone through earlier. He looked far too... _bewitched_ for rational thought. It was as though having said the incantation, having truly meant it, the minutiae of the ritual was coming to him naturally. He seemed caught in the magic's current now, carried along by the spell itself. 

And Harry on his knees, his robes pooling around him, his head bowed in submission, was truly an erotic sight. Severus wanted to reach down and stroke the fine hairs curling at the young man's nape, wanted to assure Harry that truly, everything would be all right. He didn't want to distract Harry from his task, though. Harry's hands were busy, sifting through the things he'd carried over, searching for what the spell was telling him he needed. 

After a moment, Harry raised his face and held up two parchments in his right hand: the secret map of Hogwarts and a letter from Gringotts confirming that his vault would be emptied and closed as requested. In his other hand he offered the invisibility cloak that had so annoyed Severus over the years. 

"I give you that which was my father's." The words were the exact ones Severus had told Harry to use, but the voice that spoke them... it wasn't quite like Harry's. Speech was being drawn through him and out his mouth by magic itself, Severus sensed, but Harry was the one letting it happen. The one submitting. 

Utterly submitting. 

Severus swallowed, moved in some way he couldn't hope to define. He wanted to pick Harry up off the floor and hold him close in his arms. He wanted to wish the whole world away... but that wasn't possible. He had to let the ceremony continue. 

Harry was bowing his head now, waiting patiently, his father's property still clasped in his upraised hands. When Severus gestured for the witnesses to take them, Arthur came forward reluctantly. Harry didn't look up as his hands were emptied; he kept his head bowed toward the floor. 

_I have nothing else which comes to me by blood,_ the supplicant was supposed to say next. 

Instead, Harry picked up a small, square mirror, the reflective surface broken into shards. "I give you that which may have been my father's," he said, looking up at Severus again, his green eyes reflecting pure, undiluted _belief_ in what he was saying. 

Albus took the mirror from Harry as the young man once more trained his gaze on the stone floor. 

Severus frowned slightly as he gazed down at Harry's head, once more bowed. This departure from the ritual they'd so carefully discussed... well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Besides, he didn't think Harry was aware of altering the ceremony. His stance reflected no worries. Only confidence, and a strange sort of contentment to be doing this at all. 

Severus forced himself to dismiss the matter from mind. 

"I have nothing else which comes to me by blood," added Harry as he looked up again to meet Severus' gaze. 

"Has the supplicant aught else to yield?" asked Severus, continuing to the next step. 

Harry didn't hesitate, yet again, the words he said weren't precisely what Severus had expected. "I give you my means of travel," he said, lifting up the broomstick that meant so much to him. "In all things to come, I shall trust in you." 

Arthur took the Firebolt, blinking back tears as he held it against his chest. 

Harry didn't appear to notice that, or indeed, to be the least bit aware of the witnesses, even though they were repeatedly coming forward to take things from his hands. 

"I give you my means of contact," intoned Harry, using both hands to lift up the borrowed cage containing his owl. "In all things to come, I shall trust in you." 

Hedwig gave a shrill hoot as though to object to the entire proceedings. Albus shushed her with a glance as he bore the cage away from Harry. 

"I give you my memories." Harry lifted up the photo album he'd mentioned to Severus. "In all things to come, I shall trust in you." 

Arthur took that as well. 

"I give you my magic," continued Harry as he extended his wand toward Severus. "In all things to come, now and forevermore, I shall trust in you." 

Harry's eyes, fully green again now, gleamed fiercely, but not with reluctance. It was acceptance, and again, Severus felt humbled. His throat a bit tight, he took the wand and pocketed it, then bent down to rest both his hands on Harry's shoulders. 

"I give you myself," Harry went on, his voice as clear and calm as before, but now commanding more attention. "I give you my freedom. Naught else shall have dominion over me. You alone hold my allegiance." Harry looked into his eyes, his hands coming up to grasp Severus' forearms. "You are my master. You shall be my sole law." 

Arthur drew in a harsh breath and turned away slightly. 

Squeezing Harry's shoulders slightly, Severus began asking the questions that were required of the supplicant. Harry, he thought, answered like a man in a trance. Or perhaps, more like a man lost inside a dream. But what he said was no less sincere for that. 

"Harry James Potter. From this moment forward, do you forswear any and all wizard's rights that now exist or may ever be granted?" 

"I do, my master." 

"Harry James Potter. From this moment forward, do you forswear any and all Muggle rights that now exist or may ever be granted?" 

"I do, my master." 

"Harry James Potter. Is this your final, fervent, and most earnest vow?" 

"Oh, it is, Master," breathed Harry, his fingers moving along the tops of Severus' arms in a what could only be described as a caress. A fierce surge of desire lengthened Severus' cock. The sensation was so urgent that it was almost painful, and Severus longed for his own potion then. Anything to cool his ardour. He shouldn't be finding this so exciting; he knew he shouldn't. 

But he was. 

"Then truly give yourself to me, now," he ordered, the words clipped. 

In one graceful, fluid motion, Harry backed up, lowered his torso to the floor, and slid his legs out behind him so he was lying flat on his stomach on the stone floor. His arms came out to either side as he laid his head at Severus' feet. Prostrating himself, as he'd been told. Putting himself in the place of the property he'd so recently yielded. 

Harry rested his forehead on the cold stones, and simply waited. 

Dragging in a breath, the Potions Master lifted his bare foot and placed it very gently on Harry's neck. 

Albus stiffened and turned his gaze away for a moment. 

Severus felt faintly ill, himself. The urgency in his loins faded away. He wanted Harry beneath him, but not like this. Still, this had to be got through. 

Harry, he thought, was the only one who didn't appear the slightest bit bothered by the proceedings. Just as well, considering what came next. Drawing Harry's wand instead of his own, Severus summoned a chair and stepped back to sit down in it. Harry remained prostrated on the floor, writhing ever so slightly, his fingers curling slightly as they stroked the stones. 

"Kneel now, Harry James Potter," said Severus as he extended his feet towards the young man. 

Flicking Harry's wand again, he conjured a stone basin of warm, scented water and a scrap of soft cloth. 

"Attend me, Harry James Potter." 

Harry's lips parted, his breathing audible as he shrugged out of his grey robes to kneel upright. His own feet were bare as well, his shirt a simple white garment with long sleeves. Harry unbuttoned the cuffs and shoved them up his arms, then dragged the basin towards him and dipped the cloth in the water. 

And then, bending low, his entire concentration --indeed, his entire self-- seemingly devoted to his task, Harry began to wash Severus' feet. 


	48. Chapter 48

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Wednesday, June 17, 1998 ---- 7:27 p.m.**

The water flowed over his hands and through his fingers, the scent of it exotic. He could smell sand and warm surf. And cocoanuts. And palm trees, swaying in the wind. Things he'd never actually seen, but they were real to him, now. 

As Severus was real. Severus sitting before him while Harry knelt. 

It all seemed natural, somehow. And perfectly right. 

The cloth felt like velvet in his hands. Warm, wet velvet. But that was nothing to the feel of Severus' feet. Harry moaned aloud, the sound rasping against the flesh of his throat, but his attention remained riveted on his task. Smooth skin atop those feet, then the hard bones of the toes. Ridges and calluses on the sides and heel... no matter where he touched, the _feel_ of Severus sank through him to lodge somewhere deep inside. It was good, all of it. Like he'd been waiting forever to serve Severus. 

"Mmmm," Harry moaned again, the cloth falling to the floor, forgotten. He could tend to Severus better with his hands, anyway. Harry let one foot fall, and devoted himself to the other, his fingers moving in small circles to massage every inch of skin, periodically dipping a cupped hand into the basin so he could gather up more water. Wanting to please Severus, Harry leaned into his task more, using his palms now to apply a firm massage to the top and bottom of the man's foot. Skin so warm... 

His other senses still heightened, Harry heard a series of small noises off to the side. But none of that was coming from Severus, so it wasn't important. The man before him was all that mattered. 

Unable to stop himself, Harry pulled Severus' foot up to his lips and began kissing the man's toes, one by one, drawing each into his mouth to suckle it. The experience was so intense he thought he'd split apart on the spot. Lingering traces of the scented water hit his tongue, flavour exploding in his mouth and rushing all through him. Cocoanuts again. And sunshine. But behind all that was the flavour of Severus himself. Clean skin, hard nails. And most of all, things which couldn't possibly have flavour... yet they did. Care and protection. Strong magic. A sharp mind. 

Groaning, Harry stopped suckling and moved Severus' foot so he could drag his tongue along the length of the man's instep. 

"Cease," said Severus, the single word sounding like a thunderclap to Harry. 

Harry stopped at once, his breathing laboured by then, his hands falling to his sides. When he looked up at Severus, he saw pleasure reflected in the depths of those black eyes. That reassured him, as did the words that followed. 

"I will accept your servitude, Harry James Potter." 

Severus began speaking another language then, but strangely enough, Harry could hear English lurking beneath the foreign sounds. He called on all the gods to bear witness to the enslavement of the supplicant, henceforth to be known as Harry James Potter. And he said other things besides, things Harry didn't understand even though they were in English. 

Then Severus lifted Harry's wand... no, it wasn't Harry's any longer. But as he lifted it and continued speaking, something now about sacrifice and recompense, a glimmering fog appeared between them like a curtain. 

Harry gasped, not wanting to be separated from Severus. 

But with a sharp flick of the wand, the Potions Master parted the curtain. Harry felt himself drawn through it, pulled forward until his ribs were pressing into Severus' legs. The fog swirled around them, encasing them both in a single cocoon. 

The foreign noises were replaced by clear, steady English, then. "Brush my hair, Harry James Potter." 

Harry had no brush, but he needn't have worried. When he stood to comply, the fog around them coalesced into a dark, solid shape that suddenly fell into his right palm. A wooden brush with short, stiff bristles. 

Pulling it through Severus' hair was the strangest thing he'd ever felt, because he felt it in his cock. 

Oh _God,_ Severus' hair was so dark and silky and heavy! He couldn't only brush it, he had to touch it as well. When his fingers twined themselves through the strands, it was like being captured in a magical net. Needing to use both hands, he dropped the brush and began using his fingers to comb through Severus' hair. _Ah, so perfect._ The world collapsed into nothing but sensation. Harry leaned down and breathed in deeply, then lifted sections of it and rubbed them against his cheeks and across his parted lips. Severus' hair even _tasted_ wonderful-- 

And then below him, Severus' smooth, deep voice. "Enough." 

  
  
  
  


**Wednesday, June 17, 1998 ---- 7:27 p.m.**

The chair was pushed aside as Severus stood up and turned to face Harry. "As I accept your service, Harry James Potter, so too do I now accept these things you used to own." 

Albus and Arthur came forward at his sharp gesture, though like a perfect idiot Arthur had to turn back to pick up the broomstick, which he'd leaned against the wall. As the witnesses handed him things, Severus used his newly acquired wand to send them into a trunk inscribed with his initials. When it came to the owl, though, he banished the borrowed cage and with a flick of the wand, sent the bird herself to the Owlery. 

The door to his quarters flew open, Hedwig flapping through it, then slammed again with a resounding thud. 

Finally, Severus dropped Harry's wand into the trunk, then used his own wand to close and lock it. 

When he turned back to Harry, the young man looked just as spellbound as before, just as caught up in experience and sensation, but there was an awareness in those green eyes, of just what was happening. Awareness, and a sense of purpose. And above all, acceptance. 

Harry wasn't going through the motions in some mindless trance. He knew what he was doing...but he was behaving with strength and grace, which was more than Severus could say of Arthur Weasley, who seemed near tears by then. 

Severus mentally shrugged. Arthur regarded Harry much like a son. It couldn't be easy seeing someone he loved undertake this particular ritual. But it wasn't as though Severus found it easy, either. And they'd only just got started, really. 

"I have accepted you, Harry James Potter," Severus said, stepping back to Harry and cupping his chin, holding the young man's face steady. "You are mine, now. You will bear my mark." 

It wasn't said as a question, but Harry answered anyway, his voice a mere whisper of sound. "Yes...." 

Severus let him go. "Prepare yourself, therefore." 

Unbuttoning his shirt, Harry shrugged out of it. He didn't break eye contact with Severus, but stood there naked from the waist up, his bare chest rising and falling with his breaths. 

Severus reached out thumb and forefinger and began to tease Harry's left nipple into a hard little nub so his hand wouldn't slip off it later. 

Harry's eyes glazed over, his neck going limp, his head beginning to roll back. "Ahhhh...." 

The sound was so rife with raw passion that Severus couldn't help but glance down at Harry's pleated black trousers. He'd thought the young man was slightly aroused earlier, but now there was no question of it. There was a distinct... bulge beneath the fabric. 

The nipple ring was in his pocket. Severus fished it out with his free hand and held it up before witnesses and Harry alike. "This will mark you as mine, Harry James Potter. Forevermore." 

"Ahhhh, _please,_ " moaned Harry. Severus wasn't sure if he was asking for the mark, or if it was more a case of the young man's cock talking. Either way, though, there was no doubt as to Harry's willingness. That was assuredly good. 

Drawing his wand again, Severus tweaked Harry's nipple one last time. The young man convulsed, presumably with pleasure, his legs actually buckling beneath him. Catching him behind the back, Severus pulled Harry against him and held him close, giving him a moment to recover. 

Albus had stepped nearer as though to help, but Severus gave a small shake of his head. There couldn't be so much as a hint of coercion or compulsion involved. Harry had to stand on his own and allow himself to be marked. 

Severus shivered, the parallel casting his memory back in time for a moment. 

It took an effort of will to bring himself back to the present. "All right, now?" he asked, his knuckles brushing Harry's cheek. 

Harry leaned into the touch, following it, but when Severus' hand fell away from him, he drew in a breath and nodded. His lips parted as though to speak, but no sound emerged. Severus didn't know if he was beyond words now, or if perhaps he'd simply realised that none were needed. 

Instead of saying that yes, he was all right, Harry stepped out of Severus' embrace. This time when Severus rolled his nipple to harden it, a slight shudder went through him and his breath caught, but other than that, he didn't react. 

Carefully stretching the tender flesh toward him, Severus pointed his wand just behind the nipple and whispered the piercing spell. 

  
  
  
  


**Wednesday, June 17, 1998 ---- 7:35 p.m.**

Pain lanced through him, the sensation sharp, but somehow welcome, all the same. Harry wanted this, wanted Severus' mark, because some deep part of him knew it would make the invocation real and lasting. And yet it _was_ painful. Shockingly so, perhaps because the flesh that had just been pierced was in such a sensitive place. Or perhaps because he was so attuned to physical sensation at the moment. 

Harry gasped, his eyes widening as he rocked back on his heels a little. 

The jolt of pain did more than merely startle him, though. It seemed to knock him into a keener awareness of himself and his surroundings than he'd had for a while. How long a while, he had no idea. It still seemed like he had no past and no future, like he existed for no other reason than to give himself to Severus and please Severus and _be_ Severus', forever. 

The pain, though, made him aware of his whole body all at once, from the sensation of the hard, slightly uneven stones under his feet to the cool air of the dungeons brushing against his bare chest and back. He could hear water in the distance, a small drip of water, the sound coming from beyond the walls. And the _smells_ in the dungeons! Grape, and something like nutmeg, and some kind of fragrant flower... the scents all coming from a steaming goblet he could see on the table by the Floo. 

But the most intense thing he could feel was within his own body, not without. 

He was hard. So hard he ached, pain pulsing through him in waves that made the piercing face into insignificance. How long had his cock been nothing but a long, thick nerve, desperate to be touched? Again, he had no idea. No moment existed save this one. 

A noise was coming from his own throat, an animal noise of raw hunger. He wouldn't think such a noise could come from a human, but he knew he was the one making it because he could feel it scraping his vocal cords and whistling through his teeth. 

He couldn't bear it, this terrible need. His hips began to shift restlessly, as if he'd forgotten he could open his mouth to tell Severus what he wanted. This was too primal for speech. 

Severus touched him, but not where he wanted. Not on the hard length of his cock. It was _weeping_ now, he could tell, trying to come. He needed Severus to touch him _there_. Just one stroke... that was all Harry needed. 

But Severus' hands were at his nipple again, pulling it taut once more. He was sliding something cold along it. No, through it, his fingers smooth on Harry's flesh. Smooth, and moving with infinite care. 

_The nipple ring._

_The mark._

He could feel the magic in the metal, the layers of charms that would make it impossible to remove. The spells tingled through his nipple, icy in purpose, but they felt wonderfully warm to Harry. The mark would seal him to Severus, would make Harry _his_ , would make Severus his master indeed. The knowledge spiralled down through Harry in a giddy whirl, to lodge inside his cock, making it so taut with need that he thought he'd die right there on the spot. 

" _Severus,_ " he cried out, his hips jerking sharply forward. 

That was all he needed to say. In the next instant Severus' arms came around him and pulled him close, into a kiss that was as possessive as it was passionate. Severus' whole body pressed against him from knees to lips, and as their mouths connected, Harry couldn't help but buck. Pleasure roiled through him in a wave that overflowed all his senses. He opened his lips wide, his tongue mating with Severus', his hands coming up to clutch the man's shoulders, his fingers carding through the hair that swept them. 

And then, the pleasure spilled out of him, his cock releasing its pent-up need, and Harry came like he never had before. His fingers curled around Severus' shoulders as the spasms ricocheted through him, his mouth going slack. Severus kept kissing him, his arms around Harry tightening, his hands on Harry's back moving in a circular caress. 

Surge after surge of satisfaction kept exploding through his cock, until Harry thought he would collapse. As his climax ebbed to a halt, he felt utterly drained, like he'd given all he was to Severus. But of course, he had. 

And Severus was pleased; Harry could tell. The man stopped kissing him and moved his lips to Harry's ear, and spoke very, very quietly against it. 

" _Ahhhh, Harry...._ " 

Harry wanted to say something back, but his mind felt blank, wiped clean, incoherent. A jumble of impressions, only. Severus' dark eyes reflecting more than mere pleasure as the man moved back. Satisfaction, that was there. And surprise, followed by a certain smugness, too. And perhaps, just perhaps... a little bit of pride in Harry. 

And then, something unexpected: a faint tinge of regret. 

It puzzled Harry until the man spoke again, his words loud enough to carry easily, this time. 

"Pain now, Harry. _Accio_ goblet--" 

A clattering noise filled Harry's ears as the goblet he'd dropped earlier righted itself on the stone floor and floated upward into Snape's waiting hand. 

The Potions Master chuckled, the sound deep and smooth. 

" _Accio_ other goblet," he said in a dry voice as he extended the empty one off to the side. It seemed to vanish into nothingness as it went beyond the small circle that had become Harry's entire existence. 

His nipple throbbed now, but that made sense. Severus had said there would be pain. And that was all that mattered. What Severus said. What Severus wanted. He was marked now. He was _owned_. And it was all he could possibly want, the moment something to be cherished and hugged to himself. Something perfect. Because it _was_ perfect,Harry thought, beginning to sway on his feet in his dizziness. 

_He belonged to Severus. He'd never be alone again._

Against all that, it was simplicity itself to hold out his hand when Severus said to. Even when he saw the dagger appear, all Harry felt was contentment. _Pain, now._ If Severus wanted things that way, it couldn't be wrong. 

The golden goblet glinted in the lamplight, hovering beneath his arm, now. The razor point of the dagger was at his thumb, pressing into his skin, but not enough to break it. 

"Look at me, Harry." 

The command drew his complete attention. Harry glanced up, forgetting the pain he felt and the pain still to come. 

Severus' hand, clasping his, stroked his wrist and knuckles. "I will spill your blood into my potion, Harry. And as I drink it, the contract to bind your life to mine will appear. Remember this, Harry. From the moment that you sign it, you must not speak again until the witnesses leave. You must remain in total silence." 

Harry blinked, trying to make sense of what he'd heard. Severus was instructing him, he understood that much. But the instructions all but baffled him. That sense he'd had before, that he was being pulled along by a tide, was gone now. He was adrift in open waters, floundering. He didn't know which way to swim. Worse, he couldn't remember how to swim. He felt himself drowning in confusion. 

But then he remembered that Severus would help him. 

"W... w... witnesses?" he croaked, shaking his head a little. The word didn't make any sense. 

Severus' black eyebrows drew together. For a moment, he looked as confused as Harry felt, but then his expression cleared. "Don't speak until I say you may, Harry. Not one word. Remain in silence." 

Harry nodded, understanding finally. _Silence_. He could do that. 

An instant later, he felt a stabbing pain in his thumb, and then pressure, as Severus squeezed a few drops of blood into the goblet hovering below. Severus kissed the tiny wound, his lips barely brushing it, then dropped Harry's hand and grasped the goblet full of potion. It wasn't bubbling now, he saw. Instead, his blood had formed a sheen across the surface. 

Severus raised the goblet as if toasting him, then placed it against his own lips and began to drink. 

When he lowered the empty goblet, a scroll of parchment began to shimmer into existence in the air beside them both. Foggy at first, it took on a more solid appearance before it began to unroll. The parchment was blank at first, but then, markings started to appear on it crimson ink. Harry blinked, and leaned closer, but he couldn't make out any words. Just squiggles without meaning, most of them looking like snakes, but maybe that was because the more he stared at them, the more they seemed to squirm and twist. They only really went still when Harry gave up on trying to read them. 

All at once, a feather quill appeared in Harry's hand. Startled, he almost dropped it but managed to grab hold of it again before it fell. Drops of golden ink splattered onto his bare feet. 

Moving forward to the hanging parchment, Harry put the quill against it and tried to sign his name. Strange how he couldn't really remember it, though. Harry furrowed his brow and thought hard, and then he heard Severus' voice inside his head, calling him something over and over. _Harry James Potter,_ that was it. He was supposed to sign exactly that way. He just knew it. 

He couldn't remember how to write, though. Really, he wasn't even sure how to begin. Instinct alone was telling him it involved quill on parchment. And markings, like the parchment was filled with already. But how could he make his name show up as well? There didn't seem to be a way. 

Frustrated, Harry started moving the quill in a random direction. 

Once he'd begun, his intent to sign complete agreement to Severus' terms, the quill began to move by itself, dragging his hand along, leaving what looked like a messy scrawl behind it. Harry held on and let himself sign. His name seemed really long, but he kept on signing until the quill in his hand abruptly vanished. 

A rain of sand fell against the parchment, the grains sparkling like gold dust as they brushed the surface and dissolving as they hit the floor. The ink glowed for a moment, the sight so bright it was blinding. Harry winced, and closed his eyes. 

When he looked again, the marks on the parchment had changed colour. They were dark green now, and the scroll was rolling itself up and floating into Severus' hand, where it seemed to purr against his skin. At the same time, Harry felt his arms pulled sharply down and back, until his wrists met behind him. Something taut began to wind itself around his wrists. Harry tugged, but the bonds were too tight to be slipped. It didn't occur to him to be alarmed, though. Severus clearly wasn't. 

Severus flicked his wand and the parchment vanished with a slight sizzling noise. 

"Albus, Arthur," Harry heard Severus say. The two words didn't make any sense, not to Harry. "If you'll retire to my reading room and wait for us, Harry and I will be along in a moment or two." 

Then his upper arm was grasped in a firm grip, Severus quietly reminding Harry not to talk. But Harry didn't need to say anything, anyway. He was perfectly happy to allow himself to be tugged along. To follow Severus' lead. 

  
  
  
  


**Wednesday, June 17, 1998 ---- 7:42 p.m.**

"Don't speak," said Severus again as he led Harry into his bedroom. Thinking better than to lead him through the doorway that was a form of portkey, Severus put his hands on Harry's shoulders and told him to wait, then quickly went upstairs himself to fetch clean clothes for the young man. 

When he returned to the dungeons he saw that Harry was shivering. No wonder, since he wasn't wearing a shirt and his underpants and trousers were distinctly damp. Severus had taken the precaution of spelling his parlour--particularly the floors, since they were both barefoot--to remain warmer than usual throughout the evening, but he'd not done the same in his bedroom. One quick flick of his wand remedied that. 

As Severus turned to look at Harry, he thought that _dazed_ was the only word that could describe the young man's expression. He wanted to ask if Harry was all right, but given that Harry was forbidden to answer--indeed, given that any attempt to answer would spell ruin for the invocation--he ignored the impulse. 

Harry shifted on his feet, then, his features suddenly betraying a faint discomfort. And no wonder. No man wanted to spend an evening--let alone one in company--wearing trousers that were mussed in that particular way. Not that Harry seemed aware of the witnesses' presence, any longer. But still, the principle applied. Of course the simplest thing would be to charm the stain away, but Severus was loath to perform any magic that might touch Harry. It could disrupt the delicate balance of interaxial magic the invocation needed to succeed. 

Turning towards the young man, Severus unfastened Harry's trousers and shoved them down his hips. The action was intimate, reminding him that just a few feet away stood a perfectly good bed. A bed where he and Harry had made love... He wanted to tumble them both into it and press the young man down into the mattress and come shuddering against him... but that was a mental impulse only, since his own erection had been quite thoroughly extinguished by the potion he'd drunk a few moments before. 

Sighing slightly, Severus hooked his thumbs in Harry's pants and pushed them down, too. Harry stepped obediently out of them when Severus said to, and stood there naked, bound, and apparently without any trace of self-consciousness. His green eyes met Severus' gaze, Harry leaning forward as if asking for another kiss. 

Impotence-inducing potion or no, Severus truly couldn't resist giving him one, but it hardly helped his level of frustration when he noticed Harry's cock beginning to twitch in arousal. 

"Time enough for that later," chided Severus as he stepped back to put Harry at arm's length. 

Harry still looked dazed. More so now than before, possibly. But he nodded in reply, and made no effort to speak, so clearly he wasn't beyond the realm of comprehension. He was just... strangely focussed, Severus thought. Able to concentrate only on the invocation... or perhaps, only on himself and Severus. That would explain the way he'd seemed confused by the idea of witnesses. 

Severus helped the young man into dry pants and a fresh pair of trousers. "No shirt," he explained when it seemed to him that Harry was expecting one. "Your mark must remain on display for the..." he stopped before he said _witnesses_. 

Harry nodded again, tilting his face up as though asking for another kiss. This time, Severus did manage to resist temptation. "We need to eat the food the elves will deliver," he said brusquely. Strange how the bed in the room was beckoning him more and more. Even knowing that he couldn't become physically aroused, couldn't hope to come, he found himself wanting to pull Harry over there and just hold him. 

Instead, he guided him back towards the dining alcove where Arthur and Albus waited. 

  
  
  
  


**Wednesday, June 17, 1998 ---- 7:46 p.m.**

"It's best if you don't speak directly to Harry," said Severus as he pulled out a chair and settled Harry into it. The young man had to sit forward to make room for his bound hands behind. Severus frowned, not liking where the bonds had appeared. They undoubtedly underlined Harry's helplessness and Severus' own responsibilities, but to wear bonds like that straight through until morning? He hoped they wouldn't prove too uncomfortable over the hours to come. 

"Harry, is it now?" asked Arthur, his tone more than a little put out. "Not Harry James Potter?" 

"What did you expect me to name him?" returned Severus with one coolly lifted eyebrow. That silenced the other man, he saw with satisfaction. Severus pulled his chair closer to Harry's before seating himself, and quickly drawing his wand, tapped the table three times. 

Several crystal dishes glimmered into existence, floating above the table before gently settling themselves down onto its surface. At the same time, place settings appeared. Three, in all. 

Albus saw that and nodded slowly, understanding the implication. 

Arthur, of course, had to say something about it. "You might have provided for him, you know," he said in a scathing tone, though he kept his voice low. 

Severus mentally thanked Merlin that Harry didn't seem to have heard the comment. He had eyes--and ears, it seemed--only for Severus. 

"I have every intention of providing for him," answered Severus in as level a tone he could manage. Judging by the look on Albus' face, he hadn't managed it any too well. Rancour with the witnesses was a decidedly poor idea, though, so Severus swallowed his ire and resolved to do better. "I'm following the requirements of the ceremony." 

There, that was well done. He'd even avoided adding _you overbearing oaf._

"Albus acquainted me with some of them," admitted Arthur in a mutter. 

"I suggest we all simply do our best to enjoy the meal," said the headmaster in a voice that Severus suspected was supposed to sound jovial. It didn't, though. Even his smile looked forced. 

Severus gestured toward the platters of food. "The protocol is for each of you to help yourselves, while I see to my own needs and Harry's." With that, he picked up a neat wedge of avocado and lifted it to Harry's lips. 

Arthur hurriedly looked down at the table and served himself some salad. 

Feeding Harry from his hand turned out to be more of an enticing experience than Severus had envisioned, primarily because Harry made it so. Lost in some haze of sensuality, every bite was an opportunity to lick and nibble at Severus' fingertips. Whenever Severus lingered, enjoying that, Harry would go further and actually try to suck those fingers deep into his mouth, laving them with his tongue as if enjoying their flavour every bit as much as the food's. 

The first time it happened, Severus gasped slightly and sat transfixed as Harry... _worshipped_ him. There was no other word for it, really. 

"What _is_ this salad made of?" asked Arthur, interrupting the moment. On purpose, no doubt. 

Severus recollected himself and picked up his fork as he answered. "Ah. That one would be grated orchid bulbs, arugula seed, and pine nuts." 

Arthur ate another bite of it, clearly trying to decide if the unusual flavours suited him or not. "Don't think I've ever had the like." 

_Of course you haven't,_ Severus almost sneered. _What would you know of aphrodisiacs?_

A critical glance from Albus reminded Severus to keep the comment locked inside. 

"This is quite some meal," Arthur prattled on. "Honeyed ginger stewed with... mushrooms?" 

"Truffles," corrected Severus as he picked up one to feed to Harry. 

That time Harry moved his head to try to follow Severus' withdrawing fingers. When Severus was too quick for him, a look of keen distress washed into Harry's eyes. Worse than distress, really. It resembled pain. 

The witnesses could go hang, Severus suddenly thought. At that instant, he didn't particularly care what either one of them made of his conduct. He stroked a hand down the side of Harry's face, enjoying the way the young man leaned into his touch, almost purring, though he made no audible noise. 

"Just a short while and we can indulge," Severus quietly promised. "All right? Do try to eat." 

Harry obediently opened his mouth as the expression in his eyes calmed. 

"That's good," said Severus, his voice still soft. "Here, try some vanilla pineapple juice." 

Harry wouldn't drink from the goblet Severus provided, though. He had that confused look on his face again, as if he were struggling to obey but couldn't reason out how. 

_Of course._ Severus was supposed to provide all sustenance directly during the ritual meal. That was a bit awkward when it came to drinks, he thought, but it could be done. He dipped his fingers into the goblet and let Harry suck on them, repeating the procedure several times. Harry, as Severus expected by now, didn't want to let his fingers go. 

That could be endured, Severus supposed, but the greater issue was that he knew Harry must be quite thirsty by now. The ingredients in the potion would have assured it, perhaps to this very end. 

Just as well he'd already decided he didn't care a whit what the witnesses thought, Severus told himself. Turning to face Harry more, he drank a few swallows of juice himself, then held a quantity of it in his mouth as he leaned over to transfer it to Harry. 

Harry lapped at the juice, then began lapping at Severus' tongue and teeth as he drank it. One swallow... or two, and the juice was dealt with, but Harry kept on kissing him, his arms shifting restlessly as though he longed to wrap them around Severus, and couldn't. 

"Really, Severus!" came a shocked exclamation from across the table. 

Severus broke off the kiss and glared at Arthur Weasley. "Would you rather I let him expire of thirst? He couldn't drink from a cup, or did you not notice?" 

"Now, now," said Albus, raising his hands the way he sometimes did when addressing unruly students in the Great Hall. "Tempers are getting a bit frayed, I fear. I imagine Arthur is just... ehem, a bit startled by the way this all appears. But it will all be over soon and Harry will return to his normal condition. Not to worry, Arthur." 

Severus could have told Albus that _Harry's normal condition_ included a vigorous interest in sex. And not just that, but sex with Severus. This behaviour now... it was less inhibited than what Severus was used to from Harry, but it wasn't something the potion was imposing on him. It was all Harry. 

Harry wanted him, and it wasn't the Dragon's Happy making it so. 

That information was best kept private, though. 

Severus ignored the witnesses then, and gave Harry several more long drinks of juice, interspersing them with nibbles of raspberries and the occasional mustard green. 

Arthur, perhaps taking the reprimand to heart, didn't comment again about what Severus was doing. 

Finally, when all the food prepared for the invocation had been consumed, Severus sighed in relief. At last, he could be alone with Harry. He could ease the desire that, by the end, was burning in the young man's eyes. 

Tapping the table to banish away the empty dishes, Severus stood up, though he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder to keep the young man seated for the moment. "I thank you for your presence," he said formally, adhering to the translation he'd made of the words usually spoken to dismiss the witnesses to an invocation of _Cambiare Podentes._ "I trust you will at the earliest possible moment submit to the governing magical authorities notice of this event." 

A square thick parchment appeared out of thin air and hovered before the witnesses, who had stood up to face Severus. The words etched across it were so simple and direct that Severus could read them upside down. 

_17 June 1998. Notice of Invocation. Cambiare Podentes._

_Harry James Potter of his own free will hereby forfeits his rights and citizenship in the wizarding and Muggle worlds, becoming instead chattel, a bound slave to be henceforth known as Harry James Potter._

Tears rose to Albus' eyes. Surprisingly, Arthur was more reserved. He merely nodded curtly as he reached out to take the notice. Albus reached for it too, so the two of them would grasp hold of it together. After that Albus took it and secreted it inside his robes. "I will safeguard this until morning," he solemnly announced. "And then Arthur and I will together guarantee that it is filed in the appropriate office of the Ministry." 

"Again, I thank you, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said Severus, bowing slightly. "Again, I thank you, Arthur William Weasley." 

It was clearly a dismissal, but Arthur just as clearly didn't wish to leave. He stepped forward, one hand extended toward Harry, as though to have a last word with him. 

Severus curtly shook his head. "Not now, Arthur. There's too much at stake." And then, because the man looked so very crestfallen, Severus heard himself going on, "You may see him some days hence." 

Arthur pulled his lips back in anger. "You certainly won't stop me." 

_So much for conciliation_ , Severus thought, his own anger rising. 

"Oh, yes I will, if I bloody well feel like it," he retorted. How dare Arthur declare a thing like that! Harry was Severus', now! 

"We'd best leave," Albus said, gentle as ever. "Come, Arthur. Harry's in quite capable hands, really he is." 

With that, they were both withdrawing. _Finally._

Severus waited until he heard the outer door of his quarters clang closed, then moved his hand from Harry's shoulder to his upper arm, nudging it upward so the young man would stand. 

Harry looked up at him in silence, green eyes expressive, until it occurred to Severus to say, "Ah, yes. You may talk again now, Harry. As much as you like." 

He couldn't help but be startled by what Harry said then. 

"Mmmm. Good juice."


	49. Chapter 49

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Wednesday, June 17, 1998 ---- 8:15 p.m.**

Harry shook his head, trying a bit to clear it. He felt like he'd been lost in a dream for a long time, but now, the evening was taking clearer shape in his mind. A bit, at least. For a while there, he'd just been drifting from moment to moment, but now he could remember little things, though he wasn't quite sure when they had happened. 

The sweet slide of juice washing over his tongue. 

And the way the fire in the front room had sparked and sizzled as he'd knelt before Severus. 

And Severus himself, his black eyes, his _hair..._

All of a sudden, Harry wanted to reach up, to run his hands through it. He actually tried, a spasm passing through his shoulders as he fought the cords binding his wrists together. 

Severus' hand on his shoulder tightened for a moment, the sensation urgent. Actually, everything felt urgent to Harry, from the longing in his fingers to the tightness in his cock. " _Severus_ ," he moaned, the sound of it like a slur. 

"Come," said the other man, his deep voice almost seeming to caress Harry's aching hardness. "We'll get in the bath." 

Harry nodded. He wasn't sure how he knew, but somehow, he recognised the suggestion as one that would bring him the release he craved. Besides, it was _Severus'_ suggestion, he thought, a little bit giddily. That alone made it brilliant. Harry rocked on his heels, more excited than he could ever recall. Of course, he couldn't recall much. Some distant part of him thought that ought to alarm him, but for the moment, it was fine. 

When Severus let go of his shoulder, Harry felt the loss keenly. He didn't need to be told to follow the other man; he couldn't possibly _not_ have followed, not when he craved more of Severus' touch. 

" _Revelares_ ," he heard the Potions Master say. 

The bathroom was bright inside, lit by what seemed to be hundred of candles, most of them hanging overheard. But there were also impossibly fat ones standing on waist-high pillars of iron which were scattered throughout the room. The bath, Harry saw, was already full, a light haze of steam rising from it in the cool air of the dungeons. That wasn't what caught Harry's eye, though. The water was a deep, emerald green, yet remained perfectly transparent. Harry could see right down to the tiles at the bottom. They sparkled like precious gems. 

He blinked, the sight sort of luring him in, and felt himself falling forward, into the beautiful jewel-toned waters. 

Two hands caught him from behind and pulled him back from the edge of the small pool, Severus chuckling slightly. "I think perhaps these should come off first, don't you?" the Potions Master asked, tugging lightly at the waistband of Harry's trousers. 

"Oh..." Harry smiled, a little bit sheepishly. He worked his mouth, wishing it wasn't so dry. He really did need more of that juice. Or maybe he just needed Severus. 

Standing on tip-toe, Harry lifted his face. "Kiss?" 

Severus leaned forward and touched his mouth to Harry's. 

Oh yes, that was better. Harry hadn't been remembering the juice so much, as the taste and feel of Severus' mouth. 

" _Mmmm..._ " Harry thrust himself further into Severus' arms, his tongue moving almost frantically. In time with his hips, actually. He couldn't bear this, so much pure, raw _need..._ it had to come spilling out-- 

Strong arms pushed him away, gently but firmly. "Not yet," Severus said in a stern tone. "Do you understand? Not yet. Let's get you into the bath and then we can resume." 

_Not yet._ Harry heard the words again, inside his head, as Severus began to tend to him, pushing down his trousers and pants much as he had before. This time, however, Harry's cock was primed and ready, pulsing with need as it jutted out from his body. Harry couldn't help but wriggle his hips when Severus' hands brushed his thighs. 

" _Not yet,_ " he heard again, and couldn't have said if Severus had spoken out loud once more, or not. 

Fully nude, Harry was conscious of little besides his blinding need. The other man had already shrugged off the robes he'd worn for the invocation and was starting to undo the top button of his black shirt. Unable to bear the waiting, Harry stepped forward, wanting to help. With his hands still bound behind his back, it seemed the most natural thing in the world to grab hold of a bit of fabric with his teeth, and tug. 

Severus made a noise that sounded like a frustrated chuckle, and gently pushed Harry's head away. 

Sighing, his cock throbbing, Harry set himself to simply watch and wait. It was faintly like torture, though. Severus' shirt came off, his pale skin gleaming in a way that made his hair look all the blacker. Harry licked his lips. When Severus' cock came into view, though, so satisfyingly large and heavy-looking as Severus stepped free from his black silk boxers, Harry had a strong urge to use his lips and tongue again, this time by falling to his knees and opening his mouth and taking that gorgeous long cock _in..._

His hips began to move again, Harry seeking relief. He was almost there... all he needed was one lick. Severus' skin there would be smooth and silky, he just knew it... 

Harry's knees buckled, but before he could fall to the hard floor, Severus abruptly grasped his forearm and hauled him back upright. "Are you quite all right?" 

Harry's mouth watered as he stared down at the lovely cock hanging from Severus' groin. "I... I n- n- need..." 

"Shh." Severus stepped behind him, though not close enough to touch him. "I know what you need. And you'll have it, Harry. In the water. Hold still while I apply this to your skin." 

It didn't occur to Harry to ask what the sweet-smelling salve was, or even to wonder. The thought of Severus touching him, even if it was only on shoulders and ribs and hipbones, was enough to make him almost melt. The back of each thigh was massaged. And then, strangely, the bottom of each foot. 

When Harry turned around, Severus was dabbing himself as well, in similar places. Or, Harry thought so. It was hard to tell. That large cock kept demanding his attention. He wanted it. 

Harry shifted on his feet, impatient to get into the water. 

Finally, they were moving into it, Severus' hand on Harry's forearm, steadying him as they descended the stairs together. 

The ferns surrounding three sides of the tub shook their fronds, then stretched them upwards and in, as if to cocoon Harry and Severus in the warm, steamy water. 

But it wasn't quite water, Harry realised as the green liquid lapped against his chest. It was slicker than water. Smoother. _Wetter_ , though that didn't make any sense at all. But then again, it didn't have to. 

"Water magic," said Severus softly, pulling Harry into his arms and kissing him deeply. 

_Magic_ was a mild word for it, Harry thought as Severus' hand found his cock and began to pump. He'd never felt the like. Or... he didn't think he had, but he couldn't really remember. That was all right too, though. He knew now that this moment wasn't everything there was, knew he must have a past and future, but neither one mattered. The only thing he cared about was the steady promise of Severus' touch, the feel of the man pressed against his whole body, and the dizzying sensation of giving his mouth to Severus. 

It was too much to bear. Much too much. Harry felt full to bursting, the sensation pulsing inside his cock until he thought he'd die right there on the spot. 

Ripping his mouth away from Severus', Harry screamed in pleasure as he came. 

His climax seemed to last longer than usual. _Water magic_ , he remembered, opening his eyes when it was all over. The water around them was shimmering as though trying to change back to a normal colour. After a moment, it shifted towards green again, though the shade seemed lighter, somehow. Not quite emerald... 

Severus was watching him, Harry suddenly realised, his dark eyes close enough to have observed every single detail of Harry's expression, every nuance of his orgasm. That was all right, though. Severus owned him, now. All of him. Harry shouldn't want to hide. He didn't want to, either. 

"Wow," said Harry, his voice thick. For all that though, it seemed like it was getting easier to string words together. "That was... um, really good." 

Chuckling, Severus slid a hand around Harry's back. The water didn't feel oily, Harry thought, but it was sort of _like_ oil, making everything slick. Except where Severus had dabbed them with the salve. Those places seemed to resist the water so that they could hang onto each other. 

"Wine, or water?" asked Severus now, moving them until he could lean against the side of the tub and reach through the ferns. 

"Oh, to celebrate?" Harry nodded, thinking that made sense. "We're done?" 

Severus shot him a glance. "No. You'll need to stay in the bath until you come twice more." 

Strange. As soon as the man said that, Harry could remember. Or, sort of, anyhow. He also remembered something else. A vague sort of memory. "I... I think I already came another time tonight? I mean, before we were in the bath...?" 

"Yes." Severus pulled out a goblet and raised it to Harry's lips. "Water, I think. If you're thirsty, drink." 

Harry _was_ thirsty, though it seemed like he'd forgotten about it for a while. As Severus held the goblet for him, Harry gratefully quaffed every drop it had to offer. "That's really good. Thanks." 

"My pleasure." 

The words thrummed with sincerity. 

"Um, what now?" asked Harry, tentative. He wasn't sure what Severus wanted from him. Well, two more orgasms. That much was clear enough. He couldn't imagine coming again, though some deep instinct told him that he could trust Severus to see to it. 

"Anything you like, as long as you don't leave the water. Perhaps a massage?" 

Harry wanted more than anything to please Severus and do as he wished, but... a _massage?_ "Er... but I can't really use my hands..." 

" _I_ will do the honours. Shall we sit a bit?" 

Oh, that sounded _much_ more workable. Nodding, Harry made his way over to a submerged bench and used his hand, pinioned behind him, to help him hop up onto it. 

Mmmm. After his orgasm, Harry already felt relaxed and a little bit sleepy. A nice backrub on top of it made his shoulders feel like the warm water had melted him. 

"You really are good at that," murmured Harry, stretching out his neck this way and that. "Oh yeah. Right there." 

After a few more minutes of massage, Harry's muscles were so loose he almost fell over. 

Severus pulled him back to lean against his chest, one of the man's arms draped around him. It felt warm and comfortable. Harry breathed in deeply, letting the scented steam fill his lungs. 

The water rippled out from his chest, the crests of the waves looking like fireflies as they caught the candlelight. Harry shifted again, that time on purpose, so he could see it again. 

"Are your bonds bothering you?" 

Blinking, Harry realised he'd forgotten about them. Or no, not _forgotten_ exactly. They just weren't important. "Hmm? I'm trying to figure out the water. Though I don't think this is actually water..." Scooting back a bit, he lifted his legs up to the surface. "It's too slick." 

Severus nodded. "It's good to see you more coherent. Do you feel completely so?" 

Harry had to think about that. "I guess... no, not really. It's different from earlier. I'm feeling more like... I know what's going on? Hard to say. Can I have some more water?" 

Severus conjured more for him as Harry stood up. 

"Best water ever," said Harry, smiling. "It tastes like... God, I don't know. A moonbeam or something." 

"You're definitely still under the influence," murmured Severus, sipping at the water himself. "But you aren't frantic with it." 

Harry hopped up onto the bench again. "No, I feel really relaxed. You brew a really great potion." 

  
  
  
  


**Wednesday, June 17, 1998 ---- 8:32 p.m.**

Severus set the goblet on the edge of the tub, something about Harry's words striking him. The forthrightness, perhaps. It was odd, but he didn't dwell on it. 

It would be difficult to, considering the sight Harry presented. He'd leaned his head back on the rim of the tub so he could float on his back and lightly churn his legs at the surface. The position looked precarious, so much so that Severus rushed to his side and thrust his arms beneath the young man's buttocks, ready to support him if Harry's head should slip off the tiles. 

"Thanks," said Harry, laughing a little. "Maybe I feel a little too relaxed, not to have thought of that. This is good, though..." 

He started kicking his legs a little more vigorously. The movement elevated Harry's hips above the water from time to time, his cock appearing and then submerging, almost as though to tease Severus. 

It did tease him. Nothing in Severus' own potion precluded _desire_ , only actual physical arousal. 

Harry's cock was peachy pink and the way he was thrusting it above the surface, nothing short of inviting. He looked delicious, actually, and he _was_ supposed to come twice more, so Severus couldn't think of a good reason not to indulge. Dipping his head, he took Harry's cock all the way into his mouth and laved it with his tongue. 

Harry's hips arched up, the young man's mouth parting on a gasp. "Oh! _Oh...._ " 

His head did slip off the tiles, then, but Severus caught him easily enough and stretched out one arm to support the young man's back and neck. He moved the one as well, bracing Harry by the back of the thighs so he could treat himself a nice long blow-job. He could probably do this all night-- 

"Wait, _wait_ , sensitive!" Harry gasped, thrashing a bit. "It's too _much--_ " 

Severus relaxed his mouth around Harry's cock and began to stroke the tip very lightly with his tongue. "Hmm?" 

"Yeah, better." Harry straightened out a bit and began floating, his body occasionally brushing against Severus' hands which remained in place, ready to support him if needed. "I'm not a lollipop, you know." 

Severus did know. No lollipop had the velvet texture of Harry's cock, or would slowly swell like this in response to a few gentle licks. He was careful not to overdo it again, but it did take a good deal of restraint. 

Gentle little nibbles, then harder pressure right at the base, Severus covering his teeth with his lips. Harry started making small noises. Not moans yet; it was too soon for that. He'd come twice already, after all. 

Severus was content to take his time and just enjoy Harry. This was nice. No time pressures, no demands. Though he hadn't minded Harry's demands a week ago in the least. Not when they were sexual in nature. It had been a welcome change from all the reticence before. Thank Merlin they were past all that, finally. 

He and Harry were going to have a very satisfying life together; Severus was certain of it. 

A little more pressure now... a tiny scrape of teeth. Harry liked that, he knew, as long as it wasn't overdone. Yes, that last noise had been more of a moan, hadn't it? 

Severus let Harry's cock slip almost all the way out of his mouth, then sucked it all back in, right down to the root, then repeated the motion again and again. 

This time, Harry didn't complain. 

Oh, it was nice to have such a fit, young lover! 

Picking up the pace a bit, Severus began to pleasure Harry in earnest. _Mmmm._ His Harry wasn't what you could call _hard_ yet, but he was certainly getting there. The young man's hips were jerking, uncontrolled. And not just his. Severus was feeling restless, himself, though of course he couldn't do a single thing about it other than show his enthusiasm using his mouth. 

Like this. And _this_... 

Severus swirled his tongue all around the head, the motion continuous, then alternated that with bobbing his head up and down again. He didn't really stop until the awkward position gave him a crick in his neck. 

Just as well, really. This was an enjoyable interlude, but not really the way the ritual was supposed to proceed. One final kiss, and Severus lifted his head, using his hands to help Harry stand up once more. He wasn't expecting what happened next. 

The moment Harry's feet hit bottom, the young man rushed forward in the water, and more-or-less threw himself at Severus _._

Severus' hands came around him and pulled him tight. 

And then Harry was kissing him, his mouth opening wide, holding nothing back. Nothing in the kiss, and nothing of himself, either. There was no hesitation now, no embarrassment, no anxious worry. There was only heat, and passion, and acceptance. _And desire._

But for all that, it was far too soon for the young man to be ready to come again. Even with the potion loosening his inhibitions, and the sensual water all around, Harry was still a man who'd climaxed twice in the past two hours. He was going to need more... encouragement, this time. More stimulation. But not so much so that he became chafed and sore as had happened that other time, Severus cautioned himself. The potion he'd poured into the bath earlier would help with that, but Severus knew he still had to keep his wits about him. 

He reached a hand down through the slick water and found Harry's cock. It wasn't hard, by any means. It wasn't even half hard. But neither was it uninterested in what Severus could do for it. 

Harry broke off the kiss, panting, and rested his cheek against the scarred curve of Severus' pectoral muscle. "Ah. Oh, _yes._ I... I guess... _Mmm,_ where did you _learn_ that?" 

Severus pulled Harry close with his free hand. Now, he thought, wasn't the time to mention where he'd learned about pleasure. Harry might see too close a parallel between himself and those nameless young men Severus had bought, one night at a time. 

Besides, he could think of better directions in which to turn the conversation. 

"Would you like to learn it?" he whispered against Harry's ear. The time Harry had given him a hand-job, the young man's technique had been... well, eager and untutored. There was something exciting about that, yes. But that didn't mean Severus was opposed to giving him a little instruction in the art. "We'll see if you like it the way I do, yes?" 

Opening his mouth, Harry began kissing Severus' chest, nibbling lightly at the skin. "Yes. I'd like to know how you like it..." 

Severus opened his hand underwater to allow more of the lubricating water to flow onto it, then grasped Harry's cock at the base. "Well. To get matters over quickly one would pay more attention to the tip, but for something long and leisurely, it's nice to begin this way." He squeezed Harry lightly, then began moving his hand up and down on Harry's cock, stopping short of the foreskin each time. 

Harry nipped him a little more insistently. "That's no good!" 

Severus halted his hand. "Seriously?" 

"No. I just meant... I need more!" 

"Ah. Well, that will come." _And so will you_ , he thought of adding. He decided it was a little too hackneyed. "Now, varying the pressure can be quite pleasurable," he said, moving his fingers so that the ring they formed tightened the closer he came to the tip of Harry's cock. "And then of course there are fingers to bring into play." 

He began playing Harry's cock the way a musician might play an oboe, though of course no soloist ever paid this much attention to his instrument. 

"Oh, that," gasped Harry. "More like that." 

"Like this?" asked Severus, rubbing circles right near the junction of cock and balls. 

"Oh, yeah, _yeah._ " Harry seemed to be struggling to get his breath. 

Up and down, up and down, Severus stroked the young man's length, until Harry was trembling in his arms, his cock lengthening and beginning to throb. 

"Of course, when it comes to satisfying a man," Severus whispered as he leaned down a bit to cup Harry's balls, "one mustn't neglect these. They're quite sensitive, eh? I myself prefer a gentle rolling motion..." 

Harry closed his eyes and spread his legs more. That was nice. It also provided Severus better access to the area just behind Harry's balls. He stroked it several times, the settled the pads of his fingers there and gave it a firm rub. 

" _Ahhh..._ " 

"Yes, that's quite a nice spot for me as well," said Severus. He caressed it a bit longer, smiling at the way Harry began squirming. Not to mention, the way the cock he was holding in his other hand was beginning to swell in response. 

"Then of course there's foreskin play," murmured Severus, moving his fingers there and sliding the delicate skin over the glans. He pulled it back and forth, just enough to tantalize, stopping only when Harry's cock had reached its full length and was throbbing in his hand. Then he chuckled. "Foreskin play, if done well, is usually self-limiting. Though of course it can still be quite the tease to continue fondling this little fold of skin even after it's wrinkled up and out of the way." 

"Tease, yeah. That's the word," moaned Harry. 

"Yes, and too much of it can get to be a bit irritating," admitted Severus. He let go of Harry completely and kissed him for a few moments. Harry went almost wild, actually biting him. Hard. 

Severus put his hand back under the water and took hold of the young man's hard cock, "You see the value in... anticipation, I think?" 

" _Severus..._ " 

"I could make you beg now, you know. Plead for release. Every man reaches that point... but I think that's the sort of game we can play some other evening. For now..." 

His slid his hand straight up, all the way along Harry's cock, and massaged the little slit at the tip. Harry licked his lips as though restless, and then began sucking on the nearest thing to hand, which turned out to be Severus' left nipple. 

Severus could almost swear his own cock twitched. He knew it wasn't possible, of course. But the inclination was certainly there. 

_Lesson_ , he thought, trying to get his mind back on Harry's pleasure. For that was what this was all about. "Now, underneath here, there's a tight little bit of skin anchoring your foreskin. Most men quite enjoy having it plucked like a lute string..." 

Harry bucked. 

"...or stretched, just a bit..." 

" _Please_." Harry stopped suckling his nipple long enough to groan the word. 

"And think, I wasn't trying to make you beg." Severus couldn't help but smile. "At any rate, Harry, this is the point at which I would usually use two hands. You can let me know if I make you go a bit weak in the knees." 

Massaging Harry's length with both hands, Severus quickly brought him the very edge of climax. Under other circumstances, he might have pulled back then, and prolonged the pleasure even further, but considering Harry had to come yet again after this orgasm? Severus thought it best to simply finish. Harry would be tired enough by the time this evening was through. 

Tightening the pressure slightly, Severus stroked firmly up and down right up to Harry's climax and straight through it. 

Harry swayed, his feet sliding out from under himself. 

Severus had only been jesting with that _weak in the knees_ comment. Now, he had to move quickly to catch Harry. One hand was enough, though. He kept the other on Harry's cock as he wrapped an arm around the young man and hauled him upright. 

From there, it was a simple matter to press Harry into a tight embrace and enjoy the after-shudders coursing through him. 

Severus wanted to preen a bit. Actually, he wanted compliments. But that wouldn't be very much like Harry, would it? Perhaps in future he could encourage the young man to talk a little more during sex. 

What Harry did say, finally, was all right, he supposed. Though Severus would have preferred praise. 

"The water. It's paler green... and all glittery, now." 

Severus would have termed it _pearlescent,_ himself. "The magic is taking note of each step we take towards completing the ritual bath," he murmured, though truly, Harry didn't seem to need an explanation. "Shall we sit for a while, then, and let you recover?" 

"Um, yeah. Good idea." Harry didn't move, though, not until Severus tugged him over towards the underwater bench. It was a little difficult _to_ tug him, actually. Severus' hands kept slipping over Harry's skin. Hmm, the Frictionate was wearing off a bit, he thought. He'd have to see about that in a little while. 

He settled Harry down next to him and wrapped an arm around the young man's shoulder to tug him close. Harry leaned his head against Severus' chest again. For a while they sat there together. Quiet, just listening to the silence of the dungeons. 

Of course, it wasn't really silent at all. Severus could hear the flicker of the candles, and the gentle sound of water moving in his bathing pool. And when he closed his eyes and listened carefully, he could even discern a low drip of water from somewhere beyond the stone walls. He wondered what Harry could make out, with his heightened senses. 

Perhaps Harry wasn't paying attention to the small noises all around, though. "I wish I could touch you now, and try all those things you were doing to me..." 

Severus cocked an eyebrow. _That_ was certainly nice to hear. Perhaps Harry wasn't as shy as he had supposed. "Mmm, well yes, I suppose your bonds rather preclude that. But there's always tomorrow, you know. Which is better anyway, considering the potion I'm subject to at the moment." 

"Potion?" asked Harry, the syllables drawn out. "You know, I wondered why you... well, I was looking down sometimes, you know, and thinking you didn't look like you were enjoying yourself much..." 

"Oh, I was enjoying myself. You don't recall my drinking a potion earlier?" 

"It's all kind of hazy." Harry wriggled closer to Severus. "Earlier I couldn't really remember anything at all from earlier on. Now... hmm. I can recall things from years ago pretty well." His brow furrowed. "Nothing too recent, though. Except this fuzzy kind of dream of you and me. Did I kiss your feet?" 

At least he didn't sound as though he found the memory disturbing. 

"Yes," said Severus, moving a hand so he could lightly finger the nipple ring Harry would wear from that point forward. "And then you took my mark." Harry winced, just a bit. "Does it still hurt?" 

"Yeah, a little. But it's like a good sort of hurt. Like a sore in your mouth." 

"Come again?" 

"You know, how when you have a sore spot in your mouth, you can't stop poking your tongue into it?" 

Severus knew no such thing. "If one is utterly lacking in self-discipline, I suppose," he said in a dry tone. 

"Oh, shut it." The moment he'd said that, though, Harry began to look a bit worried. "Um, is that allowed, for me to say a thing like that to you? I should maybe be more respectful?" 

"It's fine," said Severus, relieved that Harry was no longer acting in that disturbingly submissive way. "I want you to be yourself. You do know that?" 

"Yeah. Hard to believe, really." Harry suddenly laughed. "You have spent years pretty much trying to change me, you know. But then, I don't think you knew me. But you didn't know that you didn't know me. And I _knew_ that you didn't know me, though that hardly helped, since you were awfully sure of yourself. What ever made you think I _was_ arrogant, anyway? The blank look on my face that first day of class?" 

Harry was speaking without resentment, but Severus was surprised to hear him say such things at all. What good could it do them now, to go over such things? They'd made a new start. 

Severus was still considering his reply when the water lapped up higher on his chest as he heard a splash. 

Harry stood up sputtering, shaking his head in a way that made droplets of green water spread out in an arc. "I slipped clean off the bench!" 

_Time for more Frictionate._

"Try not to let your head go underwater again," said Severus, reaching through the ferns for his wand. He summoned the Frictionate and scooping up a handful, reached under the water to apply it to places that would be likely handholds for himself or Harry. 

"I can't go underwater?" asked Harry in a mournful voice. 

"It's best you don't." 

"Damn," said Harry, batting the surface of the water a bit. Severus would have thought he was jesting, but Harry's tone and appearance both seemed sincere. "See, since I can't use my hands, I was sitting there thinking that I might like to... um, try my mouth on you. I mean, it sounds good... Hmm, you think maybe that's why I slipped? 'Cause I was sort of thinking about going under?" 

Realising his mouth had fallen open, Severus made a special effort to close it as he tried to think his way through Harry's comments. The potion Harry had drunk _was_ reputed to be hallucinogenic... though really, it wasn't supposed to make the supplicant suffer anything approaching true delusions... 

"Too bad I don't have more Gillyweed," Harry went on, frowning a little. "Wouldn't that be fun? I could stay down there for a while and try some things. Find out how well you'll fit in my mouth. You _are_ huge, you know. But Dobby only stole enough for the one dive. Too bad, really." 

Severus could hardly believe what he was hearing. Not just Harry's apparent... _interest,_ but his casual reference to that particular episode from their past. It seemed out of place, to say the least. Why mention it? "An _elf_ stole my Gillyweed?" 

Harry blinked. "Oh, right. You thought it was me. Well, just for the record, I didn't steal your other stuff either, all right? For the Polyjuice Potion? That was all Hermione's idea and she's the one who nicked your boomslang skin. Though I helped her steal it, I guess, since I distracted you in class so you wouldn't notice when she went sneaking about. Diversion, you know? Yeah, the old firework-launched-into-a-cauldron trick." The young man smiled at what was evidently a fond memory. 

Severus had to close his mouth again. Too much more of this and he'd end up looking every bit the gaping fish he'd once accused Harry of being. Not only was Harry the loyal Gryffindor blithely giving up his friends as thieves, he was also reminiscing, to Severus, no less, about _launching an incendiary device into a cauldron during a Potions lesson?_

Irritated, Severus put some space between himself and Harry. 

In the moment before he prepared to deliver a blistering retort, though, it dawned on Severus what was really going on. The grapeseed oil... the Dragon's Happy... the sprinkling of toadstool dust... individually, none of them would produce anything like this reaction. But when brewed together over a low, slow fire... when combined with the potent interaxial magic now in play... yes, that would account for it. 

Harry had temporarily lost all trace of verbal judgment. He was saying... was _going_ to say, whatever idle thought crossed his mind. And he wasn't going to realise... until much later, perhaps, just how much he'd revealed. 

It wasn't _Veritaserum..._ No, this was almost better. After all, wizards could try to remain silent under truth serum. 

Harry obviously wasn't able to resist the lure of this magic. And that made sense, in a way. This invocation was all about submission. Why should the supplicant be able to cling to his secrets? 

Severus almost rubbed his hands together in glee. Oh, the things he could discover now! All he had to do was cue Harry's memory, and the young man would begin babbling on and on. He'd even admitted that his memory for events long in the past was working fine now. _What really happened the night Sirius Black escaped the Dementors, Harry?_

There were better things to discuss, though, than a man who'd been dead for two years. 

_Much_ better things, especially considering Harry's provocative comments a few moments ago. Had the young man _really_ wanted to give Severus a blow job, then? It hadn't been the Dragon's Happy talking? It had been Harry, unable to censor his innermost desires, innermost thoughts? 

Severus slid over on the bench, closer to Harry, and leaned down to nibble on his earlobe. And then, softly, he asked his first question. "So, Harry. Tell me something, would you? I'd really like to know... What do you think of my cock?" 

"Oh, your _cock._ " Harry looked down through the water at it, and began babbling. "I like it. I'm embarrassed to like it. I think I tried not to...." 

The young man laughed a little. "Yeah... seems like I tried really hard, but it just wasn't on. I can't help myself. It's just... _nice_ , you know?" 

Harry leaned over further and further as he spoke, as if trying to get a better view of the object of his admiration. Severus appreciated that, but when it seemed Harry would actually topple face-first into the water, he reluctantly placed a hand on the young man's shoulder and levered him back into an upright position. "What makes it nice?" 

The young man licked his lips. "It's so _big._ " 

"That doesn't worry you, now?" 

His eyebrows crinkling, Harry appeared to think about that. "Uh, don't know. Did it?" 

Severus didn't particularly want to get into that. He wished he hadn't even brought up the idea of worry. What had he been thinking? All in all, though, it wasn't a huge gaffe. Most likely, all he had to do was ask another question and Harry would become distracted again. "Its size pleases you, then? When you look at it?" 

"Mmm, when I touch it, too. It's so heavy and thick. Wish I could touch it right now. Bugger if I know who thought up this idea of bonds. It's not so brilliant, you know?" 

"Yes," drawled Severus. "I know. Still, tomorrow you may touch me all you like. Perhaps we'll spend the day in bed, eh? How does that sound?" 

Harry's eyebrows wrinkled up again. "Huh. Tomorrow? Uh... I guess. I dunno, Severus, it seems like I can't... _think_ about it. It's actually pretty weird inside my head right now. Can I have some more water?" 

Severus helped him with the goblet as he considered his next question. 

"So, are there other things you like about me?" 

He'd meant to inquire after physical things, and expected Harry to mention his hair, perhaps. Harry, though, was thinking of something else entirely. 

"Yeah. You're really intelligent." Harry shifted away slightly, as though ill-at-ease, but he couldn't seem to stop talking. "You know all about wines and fancy foods. Which aren't important, really, but it's... I don't know. Impressive. Maybe I just think so because I ate so much toast as a child. With water. Ha, bread and water." 

Frowning, Severus wondered what to reply. "I can teach you about wines and fine food, if you like." 

Harry shrugged tense shoulders. "You were raised with all that. I mean, after you stopped living with your father, right? It's different for me." 

Severus leaned towards Harry. "Would you like to learn?" 

"Well... it'd be nice not to feel like a complete idiot every time you order a meal," said Harry, nodding. 

Complete candour, but not a trace of resentment. Not even after Severus had gone out of his way to belittle Harry over such matters as food and drink. Which had been ill-done of him. He saw that now, more clearly than before. 

The young man had been raised largely on _bread and water_ , for pity's sake. And Severus had ridiculed his lack of finesse in matters of cuisine? He resolved to do better in future. 

For now, though, he wanted to find out more... and not about food. 

"So... is there anything else you like about me?" 

Harry nodded. "Mmm, yes. It's not just wines you know about. You know so much about magic. I mean, lots of kinds of magic. Not just potions. Wonder why Dumbledore never lets you teach Defence? Though maybe that's because although you know a lot, you couldn't teach your way out of a paper bag. You sure could yell at one, though." 

Severus opened his mouth to defend himself, but realised he didn't really have much to say. 

"Then again," Harry went blithely on, "we _never_ get anybody to teach Defence who has the slightest clue how to. Except Remus. But one year out of seven, that's a lousy track record. You know, there's actually a lot wrong with this school. Divination's a total joke. Though maybe that's the subject and not just the teacher. Well, Firenze was all right, I suppose. And Magical Creatures? Hagrid's great but we used to just _quake_ , wondering when somebody would get eaten or mauled or--" 

"Harry." Severus waited until the young man raised his gaze. "You were saying that you liked my magical expertise. And...?" 

"All those _languages_ ," Harry said, his voice sounding a bit awed. "I can't figure out where you learned them. I mean, Hogwarts doesn't offer anything like that." 

"I seem to have a talent for languages. It doesn't take much study, really." 

"Yeah, 'cause you're smart." 

"Harry, there's no reason you can't learn anything you set your mind to." 

"Yeah, I know." 

Severus decided it was time to shift to a lighter topic. Really, all he'd wanted was a few compliments from his lover. He hadn't meant to make Harry recall his deprived childhood or make him feel inadequate. 

But then again, that had been Harry's initial response when it came to the matter of cocks, hadn't it? He'd seen the size of Severus', and immediately drawn negative conclusions about his own. Perhaps it was a habit. A holdover, from growing up in that house where he'd been constantly told he was unwanted. 

And to think Severus had once thought Harry arrogant. 

Definitely, it was time for a lighter topic. Severus slid over on the bench until their hips touched, and slung an arm around Harry, moving in a way that made his hair brush over the young man's shoulders. "You like that, I think? My hair?" 

Harry laughed a little bit. "Yeah, now that it's clean. I think I must have a thing for dark hair. Or, not dark. Pitch black. Because you know there was Cho, and I ended up going to the Yule Ball with... yeah, and I think there was someone else, too? I must really like black hair." Harry twisted on the bench and looked Severus up and down before he smiled in what looked like dreamy appreciation. 

"Anything else?" 

Harry gave a little nod. "Mmm, yes. I like listening to you talk. Well, when you aren't being completely rude, I mean. But it's your voice, see? It's really smooth. Like melty taffy. I like it. Hmm, I also like taffy, come to think of it. And marzipan and rice pudding and treacle tart, though not Hagrid's. And new clothes that fit me right, and Coca-Cola. No, not so much Coke. Hmm, can't think why not. Didn't I used to like it?" 

"Yes," said Severus, gently that time. He rather liked this temporary openness, Harry babbling on, saying things Severus couldn't have guessed at. "And what do you like to do, besides play Quidditch?" 

"Um, swimming. Not that I get to very much. Prefect's bath was nice when Myrtle wasn't around. This tub's not bad, either. And I like drawing, though I'm no good at it, And chess, though Ron's better than me. Um, I like fooling around trying to make new spells. It's pretty hard, but that's all right. And I didn't think I liked reading too much, but Hermione had this thing, started a long time ago... I don't know, can't remember. But she wanted me and Ron, well everyone really, to know a bit about Muggle literature. Said Hogwarts didn't give us a good balance, and even Muggle Studies didn't really fill in the gap. She'd pick books and bug us all to read them. Ron and I laughed at her behind her back. Don't tell her, all right? But some of the books were really good reads. Um, _Treasure Island_ , and _Lord of the Flies,_ books like that." 

"I also enjoy reading," said Severus, nodding. "Contrary to what you might think, my collection isn't comprised entirely of books on potions, or even on magic. There are quite a few Muggle works on my shelves. Though they aren't all quite as mainstream as Miss Granger's selections." 

He let the suggestion hang in the air, wondering what Harry would do with it. 

"Bet you're talking about Shakespeare, huh? He's like a foreign language--" 

"Actually, I meant erotica." 

Harry blinked several times. "Um... really?" 

"It's a particular interest of mine." 

"Erotica." 

Severus chuckled. "Yes. Harry, why does that surprise you so much?" 

Without any sense of propriety to stop him, Harry gave Severus an earful. "You just seem pretty old to... I mean, well I know you aren't _old_ old, but you aren't exactly young, either, are you?" 

"I'm not yet forty!" 

"Yeah, exactly." Harry shrugged. "Kind of old to be ogling the page three girl. So to speak." 

Ah. "I didn't quite mean that sort of publication when I said _erotica_. The works I collect are quite different, though on occasion they are illustrated. With men, not girls." Severus paused. "We could read some of it together and you could see what you think of my tastes." 

Harry's green eyes were alight with what appeared to be curiosity, if not interest. "These are novels, then?" 

"Some, though most are short stories." 

"And they're all about men with men? People _write_ about that? I mean, fiction?" Harry shifted on the bench, the motion communicating something other than discomfort this time. Not that Severus needed to watch for non-verbal cues at this point. 

"I'm getting sort of randy thinking about that," Harry admitted. "No, not sort of." 

"Perhaps you feel ready to resume?" 

"Resume what? Oh, _that_. Brilliant." Harry yawned. "Oops. Sorry, can't cover my mouth. Huh. I'm horny _and_ sleepy. How weird is that?" 

"It's quite normal you should be getting tired by now." Severus thought it just as well, as it would help Harry sleep the night through despite those bonds. "The third time needs to be a little different than the other two," he said, grasping Harry and pulling him over to sit on his lap. "We have to seal the ritual." 

"Like this?" No sooner had said it than he was kissing giving Severus a heated, open-mouthed kiss. 

_So nice to have such an enthusiastic lover,_ thought Severus as he moved his hand down to Harry's cock. It wasn't terribly hard, which made Severus think that Harry's randiness comment had referred more to mental than physical desire. 

Severus could certainly relate to that. 

The way Harry was kissing, him, though, he didn't think it would be _too_ long before they could finish the ritual. They needed to get through it before Harry became completely exhausted, so Severus supposed he'd better not wait any longer to begin. Which reminded him... 

Breaking off the kiss, Severus cautioned, "To seal the ritual you have to come above the water and let your semen rain down. So this time when you're about to come, Harry, give me a few seconds of warning." 

"What, you can't tell? You seem so _expert._ Yeah, like that... mmmm." 

"I can tell, but it's important I don't miss it." 

Harry gave a jerky nod as he wriggled his hips. "I... could you shut up? Distracting... also, do you think I could have a finger to suck on?" 

Severus wondered then, how many times before Harry had wanted that and been unable to ask. 

As he moved his free hand to Harry's mouth, Severus hoped the Frictionate didn't wear off again. With both his hands occupied, it was all that was keeping them on the bench. 

_Ah...._ Harry's tongue and lips on his finger were untutored, but not unskilled. Severus could hardly wait until tomorrow, when he could casually mention that his potion had worn off. _You wanted to see if I'd fit in your mouth,_ he'd say... 

"Mmmm," said Harry, his eyes bright with pleasure. He let go of Severus' finger to moan again, but then sought it out again, his hips moving ever more frantically. 

It took a long time to bring Harry to the brink of orgasm, which only stood to reason. But the ritual had been well-constructed; the lubricating water kept Harry from becoming sore. It didn't, however, help Severus' hands. The tendons in his fingers were aching by the time Harry was close. And the one finger felt like it had been sucked completely off. 

After what seemed like forever, Harry opened his mouth to groan something incoherent. 

Severus understood. Moving quickly, he slipped his finger free so he could place that hand beneath Harry's buttocks, lifting them up while his other hand continued to work Harry's hard cock. 

It took a while after that; Harry had mistaken just how close he was. That was no matter, though. When the young man finally did come, the tip of his cock was above the glittering green water. 

Harry grunted with the force of his orgasm, and no wonder. His semen shot several inches into the air, pulse after pulse of it. 

As the droplets hit the surface, the water in the bath turned perfectly clear, though it was still just as slippery as before. 

When Harry stopped coming, he slumped, nearly unconscious. Severus stood and lifted the young man from the bath, arms beneath his knees and behind his shoulders to hold him cradled. 

The young man looked up through eyes that were dulled with exhaustion. "D... done? All done?" 

Severus dropped a soft kiss on his brow. "Yes, all done. You were marvellous, Harry. Now we just need to sleep." 

"I..." Harry gave a long yawn, then shifted to lean his cheek on Severus' chest. "No problem. Mmm, that was _good_. We should have sex in the tub more often..." 

After that, though, it seemed he was too tired to babble on. Harry didn't say anything as Severus stood him up in the shower stall and soaped him all over to remove the slickness from his skin. When Severus conjured a chair and sat Harry down on it so his hair could be washed as well, Harry leaned heavily against the wall, almost slumping sideways. 

Even then, though, Severus noticed that Harry's eyes were open, watching Severus' cock as he moved around. 

Pity that come morning Harry would revert to being a shade more reticent about matters of pleasure. Though, there had been that time the young man had come down and demanded a blow-job... anger spurring him on. 

Severus didn't want to make Harry angry though, not even if it meant another night like that. 

He kept a hand on Harry's shoulder as he quickly lathered himself and washed his hair. 

Then, finally, they were both clean and ready for bed. Severus waved the candles out before picking Harry up to carry him. The young man was so exhausted it was simply easiest that way. Though... Severus was willing to admit that he also liked it. 

Severus tucked the young man into bed, settling him on his side, then climbed in facing him and slid an arm under Harry's head so the young man would sleep pillowed against his shoulder. It wasn't how they'd slept before, but this time it was important that Harry remain in Severus' arms all night long. 

"All right?" asked Severus, pulling Harry close and wrapping his other arm around him. 

Harry nodded, the motion sleepy. "Yeah... tired. 'Night." 

And just like that, the young man was asleep in his arms. It took Severus quite a while longer to drift off. Such an odd feeling to be sexually excited, but only on the inside. Besides, he couldn't stop thinking of the invocation. Harry, kneeling before him, his robes pooling around him. And then later, such candour in the bath. Such open desire. 

Splaying his hand on Harry's bare belly, Severus smiled. He wanted to kiss Harry again. The urge was almost unbearable, but somehow he mastered it. The young man needed his sleep. 

Nodding, Severus closed his eyes in the dark, but even as he drifted off towards dreams himself, his thoughts were filled with images of Harry. 

His, now.


	50. Chapter 50

 

 

  
  
  
  


**Thursday, June 18, 1998 ---- 8:32 a.m.**

Severus wasn't used to waking up with someone, and the past few nights of having Harry in his bed hadn't changed that. 

His first thought when his eyes opened, though, was that this was going to become commonplace for him, now. Because Harry was _his_. That had been the last thing to cross his mind as he'd been drifting off to sleep the night before. He couldn't seem to stop thinking about it, even now. 

_His_. 

When had anyone ever been that? 

When had he ever expected anyone to be? 

He never had, of course. He was too difficult to live with, for one. Bad-tempered and demanding. And he didn't have the kind of looks that would inspire another man to overlook those flaws. Let alone one as young and attractive as Harry. 

Harry, though... Harry was different. No matter how bad-tempered and demanding Severus was, Harry had to stay with him. Severus couldn't drive him away, not now. 

He'd thought about this before, of course. Several times, in the past few weeks. He'd known in advance that Harry wasn't going to be able to leave him. Somehow, though, knowing that and confronting the reality of it were two different things. He really hadn't been completely sure that they would manage to invoke. Perhaps he hadn't been certain that when it came right to it, Harry would be able to trust Severus to that degree. Truly, it boggled the mind. 

To give all himself, everything he was, to hand himself to Severus without reservation? And not grudgingly, either. _Willingly._

It had to be entirely willingly, or the rite could not succeed. 

But Harry had done it, and now he was owned. 

And now, Severus found himself looking down at the young man. Owned... The idea was no longer speculation, no longer a mere prospect. It was reality. 

Harry was well and truly bound to Severus. Irrevocably. No matter what Severus said or did, Harry would remain _his._

Property. Without rights, without recourse. 

Strangely enough, that fact made Severus long to be ... kind to Harry. To meet all his needs, as they'd discussed. But more than that, to make him as happy as could possibly be, within the strange confines that _Cambiare_ _Podentes_ represented. 

Happy? 

Severus Snape wanted to make _Harry Potter_ happy? 

Severus frowned, trying to think his way through that one. He wasn't by nature a cruel man, though sometimes he did let his anger get the better of him. But he'd known all along that crossing powers was going to require that Harry be at least comfortable in their relationship. So once he'd gotten past his first flush of fury that it was Harry Potter who was to be bonded to him, he'd tried his best to be civil about the matter. Decent. 

He hadn't always been so successful, he knew. 

Lately, though, things between them had been fairly good. 

But still, he'd really only been concerned about meeting Harry's basic needs. He hadn't been thinking in terms of making sure Harry would be _happy_. The notion would have seemed utterly ridiculous just a few weeks ago. In fact, the idea still disconcerted him so much that he did his best to quash it. He couldn't really feel this way. It was entirely too soft for the kind of person he knew himself to be. 

But no matter how he tried, the feeling kept welling up inside him, creating what felt like a warm spot in his chest. 

He was annoyed to realise that unlikely as it seemed, he _did_ want to make sodding Harry Potter happy! 

Irritated by the mere thought, Severus pushed up slightly on an elbow, and glanced down at the young man still sleeping soundly in his arms. The blankets had slipped down to waist level, displaying Harry's tanned chest and muscled arms. He was a strong young man; Severus knew that. But vulnerable, too. 

Terribly vulnerable now, since Severus could do anything he pleased, and Harry would have no recourse. 

_That_ was a disturbing thing to contemplate, much worse than the realisation that he wanted to make Harry happy. He didn't want to take advantage of Harry's vulnerability. He wanted to protect him, keep him safe, give him as full and rewarding a life as he possibly could. 

All at once, Severus wanted to see Harry's expression. Shifting back, he observed the young man lying facing him. _So peaceful._ But that would change, wouldn't it? The moment Harry woke up. 

Severus couldn't help but stroke his fingers across Harry's cheek. Carefully, though. He didn't want him to wake up, not quite yet. 

Harry turned his head toward Severus' hand, giving a sleepy sigh as he snuggled forwards a little. It made Severus feel even softer inside. That was a bit alarming, actually. 

Severus told himself it only seemed so because it was so odd. 

Leaning forward a little, he swept his glance over Harry. This time, his attention was caught by the nipple ring, serene and silver against Harry's chest. His mark, proclaiming Harry his, if one only knew how to read the runes. Stretching out a single finger, Severus stroked it. Just one pass of his fingertip, then two. He should have known that things would be this way, that in the end, he'd be filled with a deep sense of satisfaction, and yes, happiness of his own, to claim Harry Potter like this. 

He should have known he would become attached to Harry. He should have known he'd feel such affection-- 

Severus' jaw dropped at the realisation. He pushed back abruptly, wanting more distance from Harry. No. _No_. He couldn't. He _didn't._ It was one thing to feel a bit... of liking for Harry, along with a determination to give him the sort of life a young man like him deserved. It was quite another for him to.... 

_No, no, no_. 

Severus didn't remember closing his eyes, but they were clenched shut now, and what was worse, he was afraid to open them. Afraid! Him! 

But he was, because somewhere deep down, he knew that if he looked at Harry again he'd have no choice but to face the truth. And it was an awful truth, wasn't it? To be attracted in a way that went beyond mere sexual desire? And worse than that, to want Harry to feel the same way? To actually care what _Harry Potter_ thought of him? To want Harry's good opinion? 

In short.... to be vulnerable. 

_But Harry cannot leave you,_ an insidious voice inside his mind began to whisper. _He cannot leave you, ever. No matter your temper or your moods._

Scowling, Severus made that reassuring voice stop. There couldn't be any real reassurance for a thing like this. He didn't _want_ to care what some eighteen-year-old thought of him. 

He didn't want to... but he did care, all the same. 

Severus clenched his teeth. What an unmitigated disaster. It wasn't supposed to be this way. _He_ was supposed to be the one with all the power. Physically, magically, _sexually._ He hadn't reckoned on this, though. 

Damned emotions. Who needed them, anyway? Severus certainly didn't, not when it meant that Harry had power over _him._

Of course the young man didn't, not really. Severus nodded to himself, some part of him aware that he was just trying to make himself feel better. For the moment, he ignored that part of himself and concentrated on marshalling his arguments. _He_ was the one who was going to be in control, ultimately. Harry had to obey _him_ , not the other way around. _He_ would be the one in charge of their crossed powers. Or rather, of _all_ Harry's powers, since the young man would be unable to perform any magic Severus disapproved of. 

But... none of that mattered so much. 

Because he _did_ want Harry's good opinion. He wanted it very much, in fact. And that gave Harry quite a bit of power, really. 

A dry groan rose up inside his throat, but Severus choked it back. He didn't want to disturb Harry's rest. Or maybe it was a case of needing more time to adjust. He didn't feel ready to face Harry. 

But he did feel ready to look at him again, finally. Severus opened his eyes and stared down. 

Ah, such finely drawn features, such wonderful colouring. Even without seeing the deep green of those eyes, Severus loved looking at Harry. He still felt... unsettled, about what he had discovered, but now that the first shock had passed, he could come to terms with it. 

Severus settled his hand atop Harry's head, and carded his fingers very gently through the young man's black hair. _Affection and loyalty, that was all it was. And Harry surely deserved that much,_ Severus told himself. If he hadn't known it before, recent events would have made it clear. Harry had suffered at Bella's hands, to protect Severus. 

So yes, it was only fitting that Severus feel kindly disposed toward the young man. _Affection and loyalty... and maybe, even a little love._

_Love?_

Severus almost groaned again. What else could it be, though? Affection alone wouldn't explain the strong desire he felt to do everything he could to help Harry and make him happy. And not only because it might help with crossing powers _._

It hadn't been about crossing powers for some time, actually. Only now, though was he realising. 

Odd, really. 

Or perhaps not, considering the circumstances. The potion he'd imbibed the night before had, after all, contained substantial measures of grape, mace, horehound, and periwinkle... every one of those ingredients designed to clarify thought. The potion was intended to help him know his own feelings so that the enslavement contract, drawn from his mind, would represent his truest, deepest desires with regard to the supplicant. But the potion had done more than that. 

It had shown Severus the truth. Things that should have been obvious before, Severus now realised. 

Whyelse had he promised to bind himself to Harry? Why had he begun to look on the whole situation as an unusual sort of arranged marriage? Why had he made himself ridiculous, going into a Muggle store and buying an entire box full of bright red cans? He'd been so eager to get the Coca-Cola, so eager to cheer Harry up, that he hadn't even cast a clothing glamour before entering in full wizard's robes. 

Of course he cared for Harry. Very much so... Nothing else could explain the fear rising up inside him now. Some bindings could be undone, but not _Cambiare Podentes_. The rite had sealed Harry to him from this day forward. It had sealed their relationship, and now it remained to Severus to make it a good one. 

And what if he couldn't? 

He'd never had a lasting relationship with any of his lovers. Or with anyone at all, except Albus. But that was hardly the same thing. And besides, if anyone had held their friendship together through all these years, it had been Albus himself. 

But he couldn't depend on Albus for this. It was all up to Severus, now. Who wouldn't find that daunting? But he had to learn to live with this relationship, with these... _feelings,_ even if they did fill him with more dread than joy. He had to make this work, for him and Harry. They were bound, now. Irrevocably. 

And Severus was determined, whatever happened, to do the best he possibly could for Harry. 

Reaching behind the young man, Severus moved a hand down, wanting to lace his fingers through Harry's. What he found, though, was that Harry's wrists were still tied securely together. What did that mean? Hadn't Albus and Arthur filed the declaration of enslavement yet? Had something been wrong with the rite, with the ritual bath? Had-- 

Severus took a deep breath to calm himself. The mere fact that he could feel the cord was proof that all was well. If the rite had failed, then the bindings would have dissolved. 

The physical one, and the magical one as well. 

No, it merely remained for Severus to be the one to remove the cord. To take that first step into a shared future. 

Again, that sensation of fear crawled through him. Because this was it, wasn't it? The beginning of their life together. Their real life. Everything up until now had been but prelude. But when he pulled the bindings off, Harry would fully, truly be his. 

His lover. His bonded. And yes, his property, a fact which was deeply satisfying and horrifying all at once. 

But it was the way things had to be. 

_I'll make it work,_ Severus swore to himself. _I will, Harry. I'll give you what you need. And someday, when you look back on this day, you'll feel... content with how it all worked out._

_I will make you happy... I swear._

Holding his breath, Severus gently pulled on one end of the cord binding Harry's wrists together. 

He felt a stirring of magic, and then the bonds fell free, the cord slipping off completely, into Severus' hands. 

Harry stirred, too, his eyelashes fluttering. He rolled onto his back, groaning a little as he moved his hands, bound for so long behind his back, around to rest atop his chest. 

"Severus?" 

"Yes, right here," he said. A redundant comment, since Harry was looking at him. But he'd read a need for reassurance in the way Harry had called his name. "How are you feeling?" 

A deep blush rose up from Harry's chest, suffusing his neck and face with pink. "I... oh, _God_. I remember things. I remember doing things. _Saying_ things! In front of--" 

"Shh," ordered Severus, resting a finger across Harry's lips. He couldn't seem to resist the urge to trace them, though seduction wasn't his aim at all. "It was necessary for the binding, all of it. You weren't allowed to hold back. It's nothing to be embarrassed about." 

"The headmaster--" 

"Is an honourable man who understands all this." 

"Mr. Weasley almost had a heart attack." Harry swallowed. "Oh... God. I remember you said he could visit in a little bit, but... I don't think I can ever look him in the eye, again. What must he think of me?" 

"He thinks the same things as I," Severus answered in a deep tone. "What you did was impressive, Harry. Not many could have borne it. Perhaps, only you. And... he does love you, you know." 

"Mr. Weasley won't hold it against me," Harry murmured, looking away. "Yeah, I know." 

Noticing that Harry was flexing his wrists, Severus picked up his wand from the nightstand and summoned some salve. He massaged it into the young man's wrists, then worked his way up Harry's arms until he was rubbing the heels of his hands into the front of Harry's shoulders. 

Harry, he noticed, relaxed almost at once. Trusting him. As he'd trusted Severus during the invocation. 

With all himself. 

Unable to resist it, Severus leaned over further and dropped a kiss on Harry's lips. "All right?" 

Harry nodded. But he looked wan, his expression one of resignation and sorrow. Severus felt a small pang at that. He knew this wasn't the life Harry would have chosen. It was, however, the life he had to live. 

Severus vowed again to make it a good one. 

Pushing aside his unease about how much he... _cared_ for Harry, Severus leaned forward and gave his lover one more kiss. 

  
  
  
  


**_~ Fin ~_**

Although this is the end of _Cambiare Podentes: Invocare,_

the storyline continues in the final _Cambiare Podentes_ novel. 


End file.
